Deathless
by Lillith Rhiannon
Summary: A secret program is formed in the military, designed to create perfect assassins. Soldiers are kidnapped right under their superiors' noses, brainwashed, and drugged. Due to superior genetics and ablilities, Edward is top choice for this program. AU.
1. Rude Awakening

A/N – This is just another one of my random ideas. Instead of my first FMA story though, which was a oneshot, and my second, a drabble collection, I felt like I could flesh a whole multi-chapter fic out of it. I feel like it's sort of a weird ideas, but an interesting one.

So, yes, this one is, like my first story, slightly AU. Maybe a little more so than _Blindside_ was. I just do my best work writing stories closer to current day, so, once again, it's like FMA in our day and age. More modern. Enjoy. ^_^

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><p><em><strong>Chapter One – Rude Awakening<strong>_

In General Roy Mustang's office, it was quiet. On any other day he'd gladly accept that. Tonight, it kind of bothered him. What with the war going on in Drachma, he had a lot to think about. The Drachma/Amestrian Non-Aggression Pact had been thrown out the window once it was learned that said country had been stockpiling weapons and that they intended to use them. As usual the Fuhrer ordered direct action, sending out squads of troops to the border.

It'd been going on for a little more than a month by now. Little fights between small groups. They weren't quite at all-out war yet, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time. The higher ups were freaking out. They knew they were bluffing; Drachma could easily overpower Amestris if something didn't change. They'd been ready for this war for years. Amestris hadn't.

Roy wasn't plotting military tactics, though, or coming up with devious strategies to help his country win. He was wondering how his team was. Central had taken them all from him; Breda, Falman, Havoc, Furey, Riza... His entire squad had been deployed. They'd been among the first to leave. That was what his mind was stuck on.

It was getting late, anyway, and he knew he should take his leave. It wasn't like he was getting tons of work finished. He'd go home, get a few hours of sleep and then head back to work. That was the plan. He started pushing papers around in at least what _seemed_ like some kind of organization, getting ready to head out.

Without any kind of warning, he heard his door click open, and he looked up to the source of the noise. He was almost relieved to watch Edward Elric step in, the only one of his subordinates not lost to the draft. He'd been out of town. He must have just come in. The seventeen year old had grown considerably since he'd been scouted out for the state alchemist program. Sure, maybe not a _whole_ lot heightwise, but he'd grown. He bright eyes were sharper, more focused, even though they still maintained that energetic glow. His body was well toned and taken care of thanks to countless hours of sparring sessions and hand-to-hand field combat. His long hair was thrown together in a messy ponytail, thick, platinum bangs framing his face. He'd grown strong, swift, and brave, intelligent and logical beyond his years. It made Roy proud.

It made Roy not want to lose him because he still had so much more left to do. He didn't say so, however. Instead he placed the back of one hand casually under his chin, crossing his legs under his desk. "Fullmetal." he greeted, "To what do I owe the visit?"

"I just came in from Pendleton the other day." Ed replied, "I'd finished my mission early, and when I got back to Central I heard about what was going on in Drachma. On the border."

"That." Roy replied, sarcastically reminding himself what a _lovely_ conversational piece that little incident made among soldiers. "Yes. We're at war again. That's not necessarily what we're _saying_ to our citizens, but don't delude yourself."

"That's what I thought. I guess I just wanted to hear it from _you_, too."

"Yeah, well..." There was a short pause. Ed had stood by his thou-shalt-not-kill beliefs as long as Roy could remember. War had a way of changing even the strongest of pacifists. He wondered what the seventeen year old would do, what he would _really_ do, if he was confronted in the front lines. Save his own people? Not snap out of it until it was too late? There was no talking about your feelings in a war zone.

"Everyone says we're winning. That our troops shouldn't be gone long." Ed brought up, trying to lighten the mood. These were rumors he was hearing. Roy wished they were true.

"We're not." he said. "It's harder just to hold our ground than we'd imagined. They're gonna start pushing us back into out own territory soon, and if they keep on pushing we might wind up closer to Central than we like."

Ed nodded. "Does that mean _you're_ gonna head out?"

"I don't know." Roy replied. He didn't want to talk about it, because then he'd go home thinking about it. He switched topics. "How was Pendleton?"

Ed shrugged. "I left everything the same as it was when I got there. It's a boring town, full of boring people. Nothing helpful at all." He sat down on the couch, knowing this was gonna be a long one.

"Be that as it may, Fullmetal, I still-"

"You expect a report, yeah, I know. I'll have it done within the week. Don't bitch if it's short."

"I won't."

"You wouldn't happen to have anything _else_ so interesting in your little pile there, would you?"

"Not this time." Roy replied, explaining, "State Alchemists are under orders to remain in Central. We need to be ready for orders."

Ed rose an eyebrow. He hadn't been expecting that. "Wow." he said, "I guess that means I'm free to go then, doesn't it?" he asked. They both knew, though, that he'd rather be taking on another mission than preparing for war.

"Yeah." the General replied. He watched Ed nod, the blonde wordlessly standing up and heading out to leave. He lowered his hand back to the desk. Just before Ed left, he couldn't help wanting to say _something_ to the seventeen year old. "Be careful, Fullmetal."

Ed was confused for a second. He looked back at Roy, thought about what he'd said, then smiled. "I always am." he replied.

* * *

><p>When Ed was growing up, he'd never imagined himself as a soldier. When he became a soldier, he'd still never expected himself to face any kind of war. Now, it was almost staring him in the face, so close he could see it's effects everywhere. Roy could, too. He knew it. That only made him feel worse.<p>

When he'd come home from Pendleton he hadn't expected much to change. It never really did. He'd grown used to that, expected it. He'd always known that by signing up with the military he'd agreed to become pretty much a walking weapon, it was what state alchemists were known for, even more so than infantry men, but now it seemed so much more real.

He didn't wanna think about it. He was tired. He'd think about it tomorrow.

Central HQ was a huge place, with a huge parking lot. Ed had never seen it so empty before. Of course, he was usually gone so late at night, but there also weren't as many people working here as usual. It almost felt eerie. He could hear his footsteps echo, soft and steady, as he approached his car. His keys already in hand, he unlocked it.

Sometimes, he felt like all these problems just piled on top of each other. He never had enough time to handle all of them. It was _stressful,_ to say the least. Sometimes he felt like instead of constantly deliberating this crap over and over in his head he needed to talk to someone about it. But, then again...

He sighed under his breath. It didn't matter. He didn't feel like overthinking it. He reached down for the handle, pulling the car door open. Before he could get in, someone grabbed him from behind.

He almost didn't even register it.

His breath caught in his throat as strong arms wrapped around his waist, a hand pressing something to his mouth. A towel. Damp. He instinctively held his breath, started to struggle. He was an alchemist. He could handle this.

As soon as he moved his hands they were restrained, grabbed by others. His eyes widened. Whatever this was, it was a group effort. He was getting dizzier by the second. He tried to pull his hands free but it was no use. His wrists _hurt_ from how tightly they were gripped. Doing the only thing he could think of doing, he flung his head back, connecting with the front of his assailant's face. The man bit back a pained cry. He regained himself quickly and took charge yet again. Ed was borderline passed out. His vision darkened. He had no choice but to take in a breath, which he immediatley regretted.

It felt awful. It burned, and the darkness intensified a hundredfold.

As he lost consciousness, fear easily overtook him. Whoever these men were, they'd known enough about him to restrain his hands. That meant they knew he was an alchemist. They'd studied him before this, to get ready for this. They must want _something_ from him. What the hell did they want, then? He had no idea...

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><p>Deep under Central Command, there is a second Headquarters, known about only by a handful of Fuhrer Bradley's men and a secret to the rest of the world. It's a rather busy place regardless, and big. Not exactly teeming with people, but those who were involved in it were among the best and the brightest, at least when State Alchemists were excluded.<p>

Up until now.

In one of the secret HQ's many rooms, Fuhrer Bradley and Major Solf J. Kimblee stood in front of a small handful of skilled scientists and doctors, in the middle of a discussion. The room was brightly lit. The walls, like the floor, were padded. The only real object in the room was a bed that strongly resembled one you might come across in a hospital, except it wasn't meant for nearly such noble a cause.

It was meant to restrain. On the bed lay Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist and newest appointed test subject. He was in a forced state of sleep and should be waking soon. An IV ran through one of his hands. His wrists were strapped down to the bed. No need for any alchemy problems when he came to, because he definitley would be anything but happy. He'd been brought in that night by a squad of Bradley's more covert soldiers, under false pre-tenses, and one of the men who'd been on the neutralization team needed to have his nose patched up on arrival. It'd been broken. Bradley didn't care. Kimblee didn't care. So long as they were one step closer to where they needed to be.

Bradley watched a smirk cross one side of Kimblee's lips. It was cold, animalistic, and he didn't know how he should feel about it. Everything about the man was twisted. Everything about him was crazy, but sometimes that insight was far more valuable than any sane soldier's. Maybe this time, though, he'd let him go to far.

"I'm still unsure as to our kidnapping the Fullmetal Alchemist for this." the Fuhrer said. "He's already valuable to us as he is."

Kimblee shook his head no, eyeing the seventeen year old's sleeping form. "Not as valuable as he could be. This, just like it's doing for so many other soldiers, will unlock his _full_ potential, and he will be indespensable."

"I'm still a bit worried." he insisted, "You know Colonel Mustang is never happy unless he knows everything that's going on. He's one of those nosy types..."

"Not to worry. He can be handled. Edward is a perfect match for this, it would be a shame to pass him up."

There was a short pause. The Fuhrer supposed Kimblee _was_ right. He paused for a split second, and then figured he may as well take his leave. He trusted the man's judgement. He'd never done him wrong before. "Very well." he replied.

Their discussion, and Bradley's departure, were cut short by a soft moan escaping Ed's lips, the blonde slowly coming to. Bright golden eyes fluttering open, trying to adjust to the bright light that flooded the room, he turned his head towards the wall. It took him a second, but he remembered why he was here. What happened in the parking lot. He tried to move only to find his wrists bound to the bed, and he pulled harder. It was no use.

Kimblee spoke up first. "Good evening, Fullmetal," he said. Ed turned to the sound of his voice, their eyes locking, Ed's in a death glare, Kimblee's uncaring and cold, "and welcome to the beginning of your new life." he finished.

"New life?" Ed demanded, "What the fuck are you _talking_ about?" He pulled against the restraints again, hard. "Kimblee," he said, and just the way he said his name expressed so much; his frustration, his confusion, a newfound hatred for the man he'd never liked to beging with. His eyes settled on Fuhrer Bradley next. Needless to say, he was shocked, "What is going _on_ here?" he struggled to keep his voice level and calm."Where _am_ I?"

"All of your questions will be answered in due time. Not now." Bradley said, then to Kimblee, his voice low, "I have to leave. I have many thing I need to take care of."

"Sir." the Major casually replied, and with that Bradley began to exit the room.

Kimblee figured he may as well head out, too. He nodded towards one of the few doctors in the room. "Just get a few vitals, establish a base line."

"Don't you _dare_ touch me." Ed cut in, as the doctor stood up and approached him. Kimblee watched with interest. He wanted to see what Ed would do. The kid was interesting. He tried to back off from the doctor, to keep him from touching him. He had no problem with struggling.

The doctor turned to his partner. "I might need some help." he said.

Kimblee watched the two doctors try to restrain Ed, watched the blonde keep struggling to fight it off. He screamed, he swore, he kicked. He injured another one of Kimblee's not-so-disposable men. This wasn't exactly the most open of operations, and these people couldn't just be replaced at the drop of a dime. Kimblee sighed. "Hold him down. I'll give him another sedative." he said.

There was a medical cabinet against the wall behind him. He pulled open the top drawer and found an empty syringe. Next to it was a small vial. _Amobarbital Sodium Injection_, the lable read, a barbituate derivitive perfect for its many uses. The lab was stocked full of Amytal for just these kinds of experiments. He poked the needle through the top of the vial, filling the syringe. Ed's arms were held down. His legs were held down. He was hardly moving. Kimblee approached the teen with ease, crouching down and brushing Ed's shirt sleeve up to expose his arm. He felt for the right spot. He ignored Ed's screams of protest, and pushed the needle through sensitive skin with a smirk.

He rather enjoyed the noise that escaped Ed's lips next; a long, slightly pained, slightly shocked cry, his breath hitching as he slid the needle back out. The small wound began to bleed. Just a little. Ed moaned, soft, his head rolling to one side. Kimblee had given him plenty of the serum. In a few minutes he'd be unconscious again. And with that, he took his leave.

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><p>Well, <em>that<em> chapter was a bit short. I wanted them to be longer. I suppose I can think of this as an introduction of sorts. Currently, I'm plotting out future chapters, trying to keep them as solid as possible, because when I started I only really had a general idea where I wanted it to go. I've had to do a _lot_ of research but I think it'll pay off. Make the story better, all that good stuff. ^_^


	2. Nightmare

A/N – Wow! I came home the other day, all worn out and crappy feeling, and checked my reviews and, like, BAM!, everyone loved it. I was _honored_. Thanks, guys, for the support! Here's my next chapter, as promised! ^_^

Also, I've finally picked up a beta reader, so this story should be a hundred percent mistake free! _Yay! _Thank you, BlackWolf2Dragoon, your help is much appreciated. :D

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><p><strong><span>Chapter Two – Nightmare<span>**

Ed sighed, the soft noise breaking the complete silence in the room as he woke up from another sedative haze. He didn't know how long he'd been here. He closed his eyes again as he did his best to think, his best to remember. It felt like weeks but it couldn't be. It had to be more like days. How _many_ days? Not more than one or two, he was sure. At least he thought he was sure.

He tried to straighten out his thoughts. If he could backtrack, maybe he could have a decent idea as to how long he'd been here. If he could just _focus _long enough, he'd-

Even with his eyes closed, he suddenly became aware of blinding white light being returned to the room, and he struggled to block it out. He wasn't ready. He held his eyes shut tight, wishing he could place a hand over them and knowing it was impossible. He turned his head to one side.

"Hello, 089."

Ed opened his eyes. The lights were worse to deal with now. At the sound of Kimblee's voice, at the words he chose to use and his terrible god forsaken _tone_, Ed was furious. He could hide it well. He knew he probably should. He glanced up at the man, wordlessly.

"089." the Major repeated.

That's what they'd been calling him. He'd never been Edward Elric, he wasn't even Fullmetal anymore. He was, according to them, 089, a _number_. He felt like crap. He swallowed, said, "...Huh?"

Kimblee smirked a little. Ed hated it. He hated everything about this. He struggled to keep thinking, about anything at all. He could feel his mind racing but it never settled on anything for more than a second before he was taken over by something else. Was this how they wanted him to think? He watched a doctor beside him, the man doing _something_ to his IV, injecting something else into it. He wished he knew what the hell it was. He didn't have the energy to do anything anymore...

"You haven't eaten anything since you arrived here." Kimblee stated. Ed noticed the way he said that, how he gave _no_ indication to how long that was. "Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

Ed tried to think again. That meant they wanted him healthy, right? What _else_ could it mean? Just as the idea came, he lost it. He gave up. "No." he said, and it was the truth. Surprising enough, Ed had no appetite.

"Hm."

The reply was short. Ed didn't know if it was good or bad, but he watched Kimblee walk away and as he escaped his sight he continued to listen to the man's footsteps. He hadn't left the room yet. Ed wearily glanced up at the off-white ceiling before closing his eyes. Time passed. His breathing evened out, he could _feel_ himself coming to again, strength slowly returning. He could think. He could wonder if maybe, _probably_, it was whatever they kept injecting into him that was making him feel like this. So what was he gonna do about it? He remembered Kimblee still in the room.

As strength returned to him he found himself growing more and more restless. Almost without thinking about it, he noticed his arms move, softly attempting to lower themselves, wrists tightly restrained. He didn't have much range of motion at all, and he _hated_ being bound to the bed. Footsteps echoed somewhere across the room, slow and steady. He turned his head again, focused his eyes on Kimblee. "This sudden lack of an appetite you have," the man said, "is not good. In fact, you haven't done much of anything since you got here."

Anything Ed might have been thinking to say fled him. What was he even _able_ to do in a situation like this? He continued to silently listen.

"The others are making much more progress."

There were others? That caught his attention like nothing else had. "What?"

Kimblee wasn't the kind of man that repeated himself. He didn't. Ed watched him approach the bed one more time. He wanted nothing more than to be out of these restraints and punching him right in the face. He was mad. He was scared. He could feel his heart racing and that only made him feel worse.

"This is not going to do." he replied, "I want you to consider that a warning." He crouched down so they were at eye level, his tone never dropping that low, condescending tone it had, the one that made Ed sick. "You have obligations you need to fulfill, 089."

Ed glared.

"You need to quit being so selfish."

"_I'm_ selfish?" Ed demanded. He could feel his words slipping to anger, and he didn't care. He was about to speak his mind, maybe because it was the only thing he could do at that point, and Kimblee was either gonna listen or he was gonna leave. "What about _you_! Look at what you've done! In case you didn't notice it's not like I came down here of my own free will, but _I'm_ the one who's selfish? I don't even know what you _want_ with me!"

He took a breath, continued, "You're _drugging _me, for god's sake, and of course I don't know what the hell _that_ is you're giving me, either! I don't even know how long I've _been_ here! I didn't agree to _any_ of this. How does that make me selfish, Kimblee?"

When he was finished, the room was taken over with silence. Kimblee looked down at the floor, paused, and finally he said something. "Are you _done_, 089?"

"Quit calling me that." the blonde snapped.

Kimblee closed his eyes and sighed. He genuinely seemed frustrated. Slowly, he stood back up. Ed thought he was leaving. He was wrong. The man turned and slapped Ed across the face, hard.

Ed cried out in pain, his head snapping to the side from the force of the blow. His ears started ringing. The pain lingered in the back of his head and he began to feel nauseous, knowing it was probably from a combination of this, drugs, and lack of nutrients. He hoped he wasn't going to get sick. He was already frustrated and exhausted. He didn't want something else to add to the list. He faded out, then back in.

"You obviously can't handle this right now." Kimblee deduced.

Ed looked at him. In his hands, he held another syringe. More drugs. Fear washed over the small blonde, golden eyes widening, heart racing. He didn't even know if he could _handle_ another dose of the stuff. "What are you doing?" he asked, even though they both knew.

"Just putting you to sleep for a while." he replied.

Ed watched him move in with the needle, his hands securing the IV line. "_No_." he insisted. He tried to struggle. It didn't work.

"You need it."

"No, I don't! Kimblee, _stop_!"

He didn't. Ed watched in horror as the man gently poked the needle through, his thumb pressing down, allowing whatever was in there into the IV, into Ed's bloodstream to take over his body another time. Ed screamed, frustrated, and Kimblee crossed the room.

He shut off the lights, submerging the room in darkness.

* * *

><p>Ed's body snapped back to life with no warning. Golden eyes opened only to close again, desperate to block out the bright lights that must have returned in the middle of his forced sleep. He groaned. He'd never felt worse in his entire life. Suddenly, a thought hit him, and he opened his eyes again. <em>Al<em>. His brother. Was _he_ okay? Immediatley he was panicked and worried all over again. He didn't know how yet, but he had to get out of here. Soon.

He laid there for what felt like forever, until he heard the gentle click of a door opening and glanced over at the source of the noise. Kimblee stepped inside, followed by a pair of his trusted doctors. Ed was terrified. He didn't show it.

"You're awake." Kimblee said. "Good. I'm sure you remember that last time didn't go so well, 089."

Did he? Ed tried to think back. Maybe he remembered _part_ of it. He wasn't sure, so he didn't say anything. It wasn't like he wanted to talk to the man, anyway.

"We're going to try something different now."

Ed didn't want to try anything.

There was a long pause. Kimblee's voice, not even loud, almost shocked the blonde. He was so jumpy. "Talk to me."

Talk to him? That was fucking retarded. "What?"

"You heard me. Just talk."

Ed wondered if this was some kind of trick. Another one of Kimblee's games. The man was definitley twisted to say the least. "What do you want me to _say_?"

"Anything. What do _you_ want to say?"

Ed didn't understand. What happened to _last_ time he spoke his mind? The rules surely couldn't have changed that much since then. So what did he say? It felt like a lose-lose situation. If he spoke his mind, they drugged him. If he stayed silent and disobeyed, they drugged him. He didn't know what to do.

Kimblee looked at Ed a long while, mentally noting the seventeen year old's refusal, yet again. He thought. Maybe this would be a little harder than he'd expected. He cleared his throat. "How much do you know about the war going on in Drachma?"

There was a short pause. Ed sighed under his breath. "Well," he said, "if I weren't locked up in _here_ with _you_, I could be assisting in that war." he said.

"You never wanted to." Kimblee pointed out.

Ed glared. "What does that have to do with _anything_?" he angrily replied.

"Maybe everything or maybe nothing." Kimblee shrugged, "That's not what matters. All I asked is that you _talk_, and I even gave you a topic. I understand you must be pretty drowsy."

"I don't want to talk to _you_."

Wrong move. _Again_. Kimblee nodded to one of the doctors, who wheeled a... a_ thing_ over. Ed had no idea what it was. He didn't think he wanted to, either. The doctors began to set it up. Kimblee talked through the process, "I want you to know that this was a last resort." he said, "Not even supposed to be used. _You_, however, are making it impossible for me to reason with you, 089. I hardly have a choice anymore."

Ed closed his eyes. He was aware of the doctors touching him, quickly arrainging things in the way they needed to be arrainged.

Kimblee reached onto the stand the machine was held on, picking up the control, a simple dial. Ed was going to go under his first round of electroshock therapy. There was no warning, save a slight movement of Kimblee's hand. Pain overwhelmed Ed and the blonde cried out. Kimblee smirked, watching him squirm around on the bed. "Pretty uncomfortable, huh?" he said, almost taunting.

Just as quickly as the pain came it was gone. Ed gasped, opening his eyes.

"Good." Kimblee said, "Now, that was hardly half of what this machine can go up to. Remember that during our conversation."

Ed didn't say anything back.

Kimblee knew he would. "You've been quite a pain, you know, and it's no one's fault but your own. I asked that you talk to me. I said I didn't care about what, just that you do it. So, do it."

Ed sighed. "I don't _want_ to." he insisted, "I don't even know what to _say_ to you."

"Why not?"

He kept going almost on instinct. "Look at what you're doing. You abuse people-!" the statement ended in a sharp, pained cry, Kimblee turning up the frequency yet again. Luckily, it didn't last as long as the first time, and then the pain ceased.

"Now, now, 089, that's hardly the truth." he said. "I gave you a simple set of directions, and you chose not to follow them. I didn't hurt you. _You_ did."

"What?" Ed demanded, "That's _rediculous_. I'm not the one controlling that machine. You're doing it, with your own hands and your own free will."

Kimblee tapped a finger over the dial.

Ed flinched.

"Are you ready to try again?"

"No."

"I think you are."

"_Fine_."

"See? There you go. Wasn't so hard, was it?" Kimblee replied, "So, let's continue our discussion. The current war. What do you think about it?"

Ed though for a second. "I don't know that much about it." he replied, "I don't like politics."

"How much did you know about the Amestrian/Drachma Non-Aggression Pact?"

"Just what it's name entails. It's a non-aggression pact. I don't know who signed it, I don't know why it was signed, I don't know how long it lasted." he replied. He couldn't help himself from adding, "I don't see how this is relevant to anything."

Kimblee sighed. He turned the dial again, much higher. Ed tried to block out the pain and failed miserably. It was _so_ intense. He clenched his jaw, told himself not to scream, forcing himself to wait it out. He was relieved as the pain faded a third time. "Those comments of yours are unnessecary."

Ed kept silent.

"You definitley are a hard learner, aren't you?" he observed, then said, "Well, is this a bad topic for you?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Do you want to talk about something else or not?"

"I don't _know_." Ed insisted.

Kimblee paused. Ed was sure he was going to fuck with that dial again, and that it was gonna be a thousand times worse than the last round. But, he didn't. He put it down on the table. "Very well." he said, "I suppose you've done enough for now, 089. I wouldn't want to damage you after all."

They were done. Kimblee stood up, wordlessly taking his leave. It was the first time Ed felt good about something since arriving in this place. All that was left was him and the doctors, and they began to release him from what Ed would forever look at as a torture device. They brought it across the room and left Ed alone.

The blonde sighed. Great. Now he had another horrible reminder to look at, maybe worse than the straps that kept him immobilized on this bed, or the hospital-themed walls and ceiling. He didn't have to look at it for long. He fell asleep shortly after, without the "help" of a sedative.

* * *

><p>AN – I hope it was as good as everyone expected. I've been doing _loads_ of research, so, again, sorry for the long wait! I'm currently feeling very inspired, though, and I've learned a lot. _Fascinating_ stuff, too! ^_^

Also, as for Ed's arms, since I've had the question asked and don't want anyone confused. They aren't, like, up and together over his head. That'd be too easy! XD They're, like, at his sides. His wrists would be right around level with the sides of his head.


	3. Your Move

A/N – Well, my update took a little bit LONGER than I expected... Family drama, ugh. Not to worry though! It was nothing serious. People just like to be dramatic. -.-

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Three – Your Move <strong>_

When Ed woke up again, he didn't know how long he'd been sleeping. He couldn't remember anything at all. For a second he thought he was back at home, that everything had all been some kind of horrible nightmare he'd dreamed up, and then just as quickly realized that wasn't right. It was dark, but he recognized some things.

His jaws and limbs ached. He was exhausted. He'd just woken up but he was _exhausted_. He tried to think and once again couldn't, hitting dead end after dead end, further frustrating himself. He was _so_ tired. He felt like this training had lasted forever, but the logical part of his mind told him that couldn't be right.

He moved around a little bit, at least as much as he had _room_ to, and felt nauseous in response. He stopped. He knew it wasn't because he was hungry. He'd eaten before. He knew that, and he knew while he didn't ever have much of an appetite he was still eating enough. He felt weak.

The lights clicked on, interrupting whatever semblance of thought that was going on in Ed's mind. The door opened. A pair of doctors entered the room, for once without Kimblee tagging along. Ed was relieved about that. He didn't know if he'd seen this specific pair of doctors before, he could never tell who was who, they all seemed so similar and they never talked. Maybe they weren't allowed to talk to him. They wordlessly toy around with his IV, jot down notes. One of them reached down and Ed felt his fingers against his wrist. He pulled away from the doctor's grip only for him to grab it again. It was restrained, after all, not much of a challenge.

Ed was frustrated. If there was one word he had to use to describe the way he felt it would definitley be frustrated. He tried to wait it out. He wondered what the doctors thought about all this. Being silent as they were, it was a lot harder trying to see their perspective of things than, say, Kimblee's. Or Fuhrer Bradley's. What had happened to the man, anyway? He'd only seen him once...

Ed lost his train of thought. He sighed. He looked up at one of the doctors, golden eyes locking with steely, almost clinical, cold blue. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. He needed a reason. He needed _something_ to keep him going.

Silence. Ed groaned, frustrated, and the doctor let go of his wrist. He held a clipboard in his hand, and he wrote something else down on it. He didn't say anything to Ed at all. "Aren't you gonna answer me?" he tried, but he knew he wouldn't.

The first doctor began to leave the room, and as the second finished writing he reached for another syringe. Ed knew what was in it and he knew there didn't need to be any protesting anymore. It wouldn't do any good. He watched in silence as the liquid was injected into his IV, and wondered to himself how much of this would be too much. The lights were turned off, the doctors left, and Ed was stuck in silence and dark yet again.

* * *

><p>"089." The voice was deep, rough, stern and military. Ed tried to block it out. He wasn't ready for it yet. He moaned, soft, as he was forced awake regardless. He didn't open his eyes. "089." the voice repeated.<p>

Ed realized he didn't recognize it. It wasn't Kimblee. He couldn't imagine it belonged to one of the doctors, either. He opened his eyes but all that was there was darkness. Hands closed over his wrists. He was so weak he could hardly move his legs, let alone fight the man's grip on him. The restraints on his arms loosened. They broke free, fell down against the bed. A surge of adrenaline ran through the blonde but he didn't have time to react to it. A pair of hands grabbed each of his wrists, immobilizing him again, and for the first time he wondered what was really going on. He couldn't _see_ anything. All he could do was worry.

He went with his best guesses, tried to use what sense of logic he had left. There was obviously more than one other person in here. The two that had his wrists jerked him out of bed effortlessly and for the first time in days his feet touched the floor. His legs were weak. He was _sure_ he couldn't walk. His knees buckled and he gasped in shock. He felt more hands, another pair grabbing him from behind, easily catching him, keeping him upright. He would have fallen. He wished again that he could see. They pushed him to move in the darkness, half dragging and half leading, no word on where they were headed. For all Ed knew, they could be leading him to his death.

One of them pulled the door to his room open, and Ed instinctively flinched back. The hallway was as brightly lit as his room got. Once he got used to it, the first thing he did was take a look at the men around him. They were soldiers, and, dressed in full SWAT gear, they looked ready for a fight. As if they maybe _expected_ Ed to fight back. He took note of the guns. He couldn't fight back. Two had his arms, there was a third behind him, two more behind _that_ guy, and finally a sixth member leading the way. Even if he managed to get the drop on one or two, he wouldn't live to take on a third. He couldn't die now. Not yet.

He wanted to stop walking but the men prodded him on. Down a hallway or two, into a room. The door was literally _metal_. He knew there'd be no escaping it, that it'd most likely be sealed from both ends anyway. These men weren't playing games here. The soldier in front wordlessly stepped forward and tugged the door open before Ed was guided inside.

The first thing he focused on was the dim lighting. Why was it so _different_ in here? It was like a whole world apart from his room, even from the hallways he was just in. The next thing he saw, was Kimblee.

He sat casually in front of a square, metallic table. It looked like it belonged in an interrogation room, and it was pretty much the only thing in the room. There weren't even windows. On the other side of the table sat another chair. There was a bowl of water dead centre of the table. Ed already had a pretty bad feeling about this. Regardless of the situation, he was still led forward, down to the chair across from Kimblee. Ed was almost willing to sit. He felt like his legs had gone through hell on just the simple walk and he hated knowing that.

In front of him were a pair of straps much like the ones on his bed and his wrists were immediatley forced into them. Restrained once more and one hundred percent helpless, the guards stepped down. Ed heard the sound of their footsteps behind him. They receded to the back of the room, out of the way. Probably back at the door. If Ed was ever going to fight he'd just lost his chance. He wished he weren't so weak.

Across the table, Kimblee attempted to break the ice. "I thought you might like to get out of your room once in a while, 089. It's unhealthy, you know."

_Nothing _about this was healthy. Ed chose to hold his tongue on that. He stayed silent. He felt awful. He didn't know what Kimblee wanted him to say and he knew if he made a mistake there'd be problems; he didn't feel like risking it. He didn't think he could take it.

"Why don't you tell me how you're feeling?" the older man suggested.

Ed didn't want to. What he _really_ felt was horrible; a combination of mental and physical fatigue, frustration, and anger, and it was all the fault of this one man in front of him. How was he going to express that and escape the conversation unscathed? There _was_ no way.

After the short, silent pause, Kimblee rose an eyebrow. "I gave you an order, 089."

"It sounded like a question to me." the blonde replied. He hadn't even thought about saying it. It just kind of slipped out, on instinct. Well, no one had ever called him subtle before.

"My mistake." Kimblee said, but Ed could hear the irritation in it. He almost jumped a little in fear, but he had pretty decent control of himself at the moment. He refrained from it. "_Tell_ me how you feel, 089." he restated.

Ed sighed.

"And _that_ was an order."

He knew. He thought for a second, another attempted strategy, and failed. Silence was what he fell back on. He had nothing else. It was his only form of control.

"I hope you're not _choosing_ to disregard that. You should know by now how bad that is for you."

Ed sighed. Of course he knew. At least, he _thought_ he knew. He was confused, and he was tired and sick. A part of him almost didn't care anymore at all. There was a short pause. He watched Kimblee reach forward, his hands settling on the water in between them. Okay, something had to happen. "I don't know what you want me to_ say_-"

Wrong answer. Kimblee stood up and reached for the seventeen year old, his hand grasping pale blonde hair, slamming his head down. The only thing that saved him from slamming against the table was the water, and that was worse. On impulse, he closed his eyes. It was cold, _freezing_ cold, and he struggled to hold his breath. Kimblee held his head under the water and he couldn't fight it. His wrists wouldn't budge. Just as suddenly he was pulled out. He came up coughing, immediatley taking in as much air as humanly possible. His hair was soaked and the freezing water ran down, soaking his arms, his chest, his legs. He didn't know what Kimblee wanted. He wished the man would _say_ it. How could he expect Ed to just _know_? He forced himself to slow his breathing. He didn't want to show any kind of weakness.

Tired, golden eyes locked with cold, uncaring ones. Kimblee crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair. "I could have you dead any time I choose." he pointed out, "You have to _prove_ yourself valuable."

There was hardly a pause as Ed thought about that. "I have to... prove myself _valuable_?" he repeated, almost in disbelief. He tried to shake off the cold consuming his mind. He willed strength back into his voice and asked, "Haven't I already? You kidnapped me, I didn't come to you. There's something in me you _want_."

Kimblee almost looked interested in the teen's self-assessment. He didn't even try to interrupt it.

"That much is _obvious_. You might not tell me what exactly it _is_... but I know something's there."

"That's what you think?" Kimblee finally replied. "Well, I suppose you've had plenty of time to think about it. It must be a pretty solid argument, at least in your _own_ mind."

Ed hesitated a little. He waited.

"What if I told you I simply took you because I _wanted_ you?" he suggested. "What if what I'm trying to cultivate here isn't anything special at all? You don't know that. You don't _know_ what the standards are. For all you know I just picked you at random."

"What are you...?"

"When I say you need to show me your value, I mean it."

Ed glared.

"Your move."

"My move?" Ed replied. In his mind, he wanted to _scream_ at the man. This wasn't some game. He was fucking with someone else's life and he didn't seem to care one way or the other. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay."

And he spit in his face.

He knew it shocked him. He could see it. A small smirk graced the corners of Ed's lips, and he watched Kimblee raise a hand for his face, wordlessly wiping it off himself. He sighed and it almost sounded like frustration. Then he stood up. He grabbed Ed by his wet hair. More violent than the first time, he dragged him down into the water. The blonde hardly had time to cry out before he was under.

Kimblee held Ed underwater for much longer than he had the first time. He was furious, and every time Ed tried to fight it he just pressed down harder. Across the room, none of the guards even flinched. They'd seen worse before.

True, Kimblee had been _mad_ when Ed reacted like that. Mostly because he'd spit at him, but what was less obvious was the worry in the back of his mind. If he didn't take to this training, there were going to be some problems. He noticed Ed wasn't struggling anymore, wasn't moving. He tightened his grip on his hair and pulled him back up. Water poured off him, splashing onto the table, falling back into the bowl, dripping onto the floor. His eyes were closed and for a second Kimblee wondered if he'd killed him, but when he looked a little closer he could see his chest rise and fall with each new breath he took. Good. He was simply unconscious.

He was done with him, anyway. With his free hand, he shoved the bowl out of the way. It slid off the table and straight onto the floor, a loud crash reverberating off the walls, and then he dropped Ed from his grip. His body hit the table hard. He'd feel it when he woke up.

He looked down at Ed. "Goddamn _kid_." he swore under his breath, then nodded to one of the guards. "Get him out of here."

* * *

><p>AN – I think I nailed Ed's character down pretty well this chapter. He certainly isn't weak and I didn't want to portray his as a little, vulnerable child. I figured he'd want as much control as he'd get and if he was pissed he'd probably show it. Although we can kind of see things taking effect, anyway. XD


	4. Assert Yourself

A/N – I checked my story stats for _Deathless_ and noticed a disturbing little trend. My chapters have been getting about 200 words shorter each update. Ugh. I'm gonna cut that out right now. ^_^

Anyway, here's chapter four. It took forever, I know, but I had to restart it all from scratch. My flash drive totaled itself the other day and I lost ALL my FFN stuff. Although I've got pretty much at least the full plot for _this_ story re-written and ready to go. It's just this one chapter was a little bit of a stumble for me...

I can tell you right now it's not my best work, but that at least I still worked _hard_. I had tons of people on my ass about updates. I should be annoyed but I appreciated it. Thanks, guys! You keep me motivated!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Four – Assert Yourself<strong>_

Ed gasped, his eyes opening, his body finally coming back into consciousness once again. The first thing he realized was that he could _breathe_. That was a small relief. The second thing his mind found itself on was the fact that he was still stuck in this hell hole, locked up in that bed again, and he could already feel the restraints on his wrists. Another day in this room.

He heard the door click open, soft footsteps enter the room. If it was more doctors, he didn't care. If it was _Kimblee_...

"Well, well. Looks like you're not dead after all."

Yeah, it was him. Ed thought back on how many times he'd heard that damn voice, and how many times he'd been put through hell because of him. It felt like he'd been dealing with it forever. Then, the weight of Kimblee's words actually hit him. Dead?

"What?" He had a short flashback. Kimblee holding his head underwater. It was the last thing he could remember; his lungs burning, his head spinning, struggling to free himself from those goddamn restraints until he was too weak to even move. Had it really been that bad? "You tried to _kill_ me?"

"That hadn't been my intention when we started, no."

Ed glared. Kimblee could see suspicion in it, which was exactly what he'd wanted. True, he might have been a bit worried himself when Ed first lost consciousness, but the seventeen year old hadn't been in any real danger. It was better this way, though. Keep him on edge.

"Well, now that we have that out of the way, let's cut right to the chase."

And just like that, doctors were wheeling over the electroshock therapy machine again. Ed literally almost cringed at just the sight of it. He flinched back a little as Kimblee produced yet another terrifying object, another syringe Ed could only assume was full of whatever it was they'd been using to sedate him. He didn't know if he'd rather take that or the electroshock. "Wait-" he tried. Kimblee didn't. He plunged the needle straight into his arm, and Ed's breath hitched as cold liquid was injected into his body. "I-I _just_ woke up." he pointed out, tired and hazy.

"Oh, don't worry, 089. It's not enough to put you to sleep. Just enough to make you talk."

Ed sighed. He didn't know what to say anymore. He knew what he _felt_, and it was all awful, but he had no idea what to say. Silence would just have to do it. He was hardly thinking. No energy to strategize anymore...

"We both know what comes next, don't we?"

He did, all too well. Another go at the electroshock "therapy". Another long, confusing, horrific session of Ed didn't know what. "_No_."

In the back of his mind, he told himself he wouldn't break. He would _not_ break.

* * *

><p>Al sighed, soft, under his breath. It was dark outside. Quiet. He laid on the couch, flat on his back, his new kitten sitting on his stomach. He held out a finger, smiling as it curiously pawed at it, staring with wide green eyes and meowing in a high-pitched voice. Al frowned. The thing was <em>super<em> adorable.

He wanted to introduce him to Ed.

Where the hell _was_ he, anyway? Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, was frequently away on missions. Sometimes so many missions he forgot to come home in between them. Al could vividly remember him _promising_ to be home from Pendleton soon, though. In one day, he'd said, maybe two if things got ugly. Two days had passed. And then another three more on top of that. No one could blame him for worrying, right?

Yes, they could. Al "_always_" worried. He was "just that sort of person".

He liked to call it intuition, instead, because he was usually right. But there wasn't much to worry about, anyway. He knew where Ed was. He was on another mission for Roy. That was where he always was. Ed could give and give until he collapsed from the exhaustion; Roy would still ask more of him. The man was demanding to the extreme. It was a double edged sword. It made Ed work harder, in turn bettering himself, but the line between enough and too much tended to blur occasionally. It usually rested on Al to make that call.

Maybe he should make it again. He wished Ed would just come home on his own. He knew it wouldn't happen tonight, but maybe tomorrow. He should at least _call_...

Al reached down and scooped up the kitten, hovered it above his eyes. It had a cute little smiley face. "Do you think he'll call?"

Obviously, the kitten didn't say anything back.

* * *

><p>Slowly, Ed opened his eyes. For the first time since he'd come here, the room was dimly lit. It was a nice change of pace for once. He tried to think again and drew a blank. What else could he remember? Not much of <em>anything<em>, it seemed. His head was killing him...

Across the room, Kimblee leaned against the wall, watching as the seventeen year old finally came to. Another round of electroshock therapy and another failure. Beside him stood Fuhrer Bradley. This had been his first observation of the Warrior Project and it couldn't be called a success.

"I _told_ you he had the wrong mindset for this." the Fuhrer said.

Kimblee frowned. "And I told you he was perfect." he replied.

Doctors attended to Ed. The blonde made a soft noise of disapproval, his body hardly able to flinch away. He obviously had no strength left. It was a sign that could go either way. He was put through more tests, basic medical exams you might see run at any clinic, as the two higher-ups watched.

"Fine. Stick to your guns." Bradley decided. Never taking his eyes off Ed he eventually added, "Does he have amnesia? I think maybe you're abusing your power a little."

"I doubt it."

"You're messing with his brain. It's a possibility. A highly researched one at that."

"Even if he _does_ have amnesia, the memories will come back for the most part, anyway. And shortly." There was another pause in between them. Across the room, one of the doctors took Ed's hand and told him to squeeze. He did. Good sign. Ed might have just a bit of memory loss, but who cared? Kimblee sighed. "We don't _want_ them to remember everything, right?"

Bradley immediatley had something else to say. "Well what about brain damage?"

Kimblee replied just as quickly. "He doesn't show any of the signs." he said, and added, "You know we can't stop now. It can only get worse or it'll make him think he has control. That would be useless, and we can't just slow _down_ or he'll never..."

He stalled off right there. They both knew where he was going, anyway. There was a long pause between them. Bradley took a moment to continue his observation of Ed. "Well, if anything he's near catatonic."

Kimblee didn't say anything back.

"I think that means he's just looking for another way to find control, to give himself some more leverage he can use against you."

He didn't want to be back at that discussion again. "I'll give him more Amytal."

Finally, Bradley nodded. "True. I guess you _could_ pump him full of more drugs." he agreed, "Well, all I can say is best of luck to you, Major. You know you can't mess this up."

* * *

><p>Hours later, it only got worse. Kimblee and the doctors left. Ed spent what felt like forever awake and alone in the same room as always, stuck in the same bed, feeling tired and awake and frustrated and confused and so many other things he couldn't put a name on.<p>

Not to mention _sick_. He was getting sick. At least, he thought he was. He couldn't sleep without the medicine they'd been giving him, he couldn't think, he _knew_ he couldn't walk. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't even breathe. As time passed, he'd started experiencing things; tiny headaches, slight bouts of nausea, just the tiniest flutters in his chest...

Nothing like tonight.

Maybe they were trying to kill him. Maybe he'd put up _way_ too much of a fight. Or maybe he was right when he'd said they needed him too much to just waste him away like that. He didn't know what to believe and it was only harder in his current condition. This was so much different. He told himself it was all in his head. If he slept it off, it'd calm down. He'd try that.

A few minutes, or maybe hours (hell, maybe even _days_, Ed didn't know) later the doctors came back. Ed didn't protest because he honestly couldn't. He hardly acknowledged them. He was officially out of it.

"...low heart rate..." one of them said.

"...drop in body temperature..." a few seconds later.

"089? 089!" Ed remembered that was supposed to be _his_ name. He sighed and made himself look up at the doctor. He wanted to say something but he didn't know what. He didn't have time to, anyway. The man reached for one of his hands, grabbed it in one of his own and held tightly. "Squeeze." he directed.

Ed didn't want to. He just wanted to go to sleep.

That wasn't about to happen. The man tightened his grip on his hand and pulled, effectively emphasizing the order. A short jolt of pain ran through Ed's arm. He flinched back a little, but after a second or two he did as he'd been told.

It was hardly a movement. His fingertips brushed against the man's hand, not tight at all, but it was obviously all he could do. He didn't have any strength left. Maybe after he slept or something...

"I think he's overdosing."

It was the damn drugs. Ed knew it was the drugs.

"Get the Major."

"_No_." Ed heard himself say, barely audible, almost on instinct. He didn't know what they were gonna do, what they'd probably _planned_ to do. He didn't like not knowing. He didn't like feeling like everything here was some kind of sick, twisted paradox, but it was the only thing left.

He blacked out.

* * *

><p>Once Ed faded into unconsciousness, things slid downhill fast. His heart rate plummeted. He flatlined. The once almost empty room suddenly resembled any ER, doctors rushing around with strange precision, determined to save the life of a patient.<p>

Make that 'subject'.

Ed flatlined once more towards the end and, somehow, they brought him back again. As far as anyone was concerned it was a what you don't know can't hurt you kind of deal. Ed wasn't going to remember this when he woke up. No one planned to tell him. It's not like those things fell within a doctor's jurisdiction here, anyway.

And the seventeen year old wasn't even a _week_ into training.

He slept the whole night through, and into a good chunk of the next day. It was early afternoon when he finally came to again, but it wasn't like he'd know. He was never told anything. He sighed as pain flooded his mind. Just as quickly it washed away and he felt nothing.

Golden eyes struggled to adjust to the light once again. He still felt horrible, but compared to the last thing he remembered...

It was better. He was almost numb. After what he'd been put through, he'd gladly accept that. He tried to close his eyes again until he heard footsteps. He wasn't alone in this room; another doctor had joined him.

"How are you feeling, 089?"

It was the first time he'd ever really been spoken to by one of these men, and he didn't know why but it agitated him like nothing else had. Cold and clinical. Well, what the hell had he expected, anyway? He turned his head and opted for silence. Just like that he was angry again.

"089." the voice repeated.

The man held onto a clipboard, presumably notes about whatever they were doing here, and he tapped it with one finger. The noise was aggravating. Ed looked at the man, rolled his eyes.

Again. More stern. "How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic." the blonde replied, his words laced with sarcasm. "Fucking great."

He didn't get a rise out of the man at all. He watched him jot some things down, and without looking up he proceeded. "Any chest pain? Dizziness?"

"_No_." he snapped. All that was there was that odd, out-of-body feeling he'd woken up with.

The doctor nodded once. He took some more notes. Ed watched wordlessly, frustrated and already feeling tired. He should close his eyes again. Just ignore what was left of his world and fall back asleep. No point in being awake like this.

It was almost like he'd had his mind read. "Don't go back to sleep." the doctor plainly stated, "We'll be back shortly."

* * *

><p>AN – I think I lied. -.-

Some pretty short scenes, there, huh? Is that a bad thing or a good thing? I didn't see the sense in prolonging them; it'd get boring quick. Sorry. Flash drive broke. All that sad stuff.


	5. Pulling Strings

A/N – Yeah, so... it's been a while, guys! Almost a _month_! Sorry about that. Well, I'm still working hard on this story, so don't worry. It's gonna get finished! :D

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Chapter Six – Pulling Strings<strong>_

After the overdose incident, everything started to happen in a blur as far as Ed was concerned. Hours, even days, blended in with each other, the same repetitive nothingness stretching on and on with no clear end in sight. He didn't feel quite as sick as he did before and while he didn't enjoy it he was glad it wasn't getting much worse. He didn't want to know how bad this could be.

Also, since the overdose incident, he'd noticed a significant increase in doctor time. More and more of the silent annoyances had been barging into his room as time dragged on; checking monitors, asking the occasional question, jotting down notes for whatever type of disturbing study this was...

Not to mention injection after injection. Ed couldn't believe that he'd been _so_ sick before, yet here these people were upping the dosages on everything like he needed more of it. He wasn't a drug addict, for god's sake. He'd been a pretty much normal, healthy seventeen year old when he'd been brought here. How much could have changed?

Most of the time he felt weak and restless, the restlessness being a complete contradiction of how he felt earlier. Being awake for such long periods of time almost felt foreign. In actuality, however, he was only really awake for about ten hours a day. Then, that slight restlessness built into full on insomnia.

Of the twenty four hours in a day, he might have been sleeping two.

It felt, much like everything else did, horrible, but horrible in it's own way. He had so much time just to think. Thinking led to worrying, debating, confusing himself as everything wound its way around his mind in unwinnable circles.

Everything was unwinnable it seemed.

He stopped asking questions. He'd stopped a long time ago, since there were never any answers to be given and he had nothing new to ask. He didn't talk much to the doctors anymore, either. He was beginning to think his mind was playing tricks on him.

He was seeing things. It was debatable even in his own mind, but just the fact that he _believed_ he was wasn't good. They weren't huge, complex hallucinations yet. Just shadows that didn't belong, that moved unnaturally, that logic couldn't justify. Noises that had no place in this room...

Was it the drugs or was he losing his mind? He hated not knowing. He told himself to get a grip.

He was stronger than this. He'd found his way out of many bad situations before. Sometimes by accident, he had to admit, but most of the time it was on purpose. So sick or not, he was getting out of here alive. Unscathed, he'd probably passed that point by now, but alive, _definitely_.

* * *

><p>It was a pretty casual day, for lack of a better word. Not much to do in Central. Kimblee skipped the last half of work and headed down to his own more personal headquarters, intent on completing <em>something<em> of value today. Might as well be some more work on the world's newest breed of weaponry.

He'd hardly gotten settled. A cup of coffee and he was at his desk, papers slowly scattering their way around as he slowly submerged himself in his newest work, but he had all of five minutes before there was a knock at his door. Sometimes, being a leader could get quite annoying...

"_What_?" he coldly demanded.

His staff must be used to the attitude by now. The door creaked open and in stepped a lab coated, perfectly professional looking doctor, one of the small handful currently employed by him. In one arm he held a small stack of burgundy folders. They were labelled with a piece of grey tape over the front, numbers messily scrawled on in black marker. "Newly updated patient files." he said, confirming it as he crossed the room and settled them on Kimblee's desk, amidst all the other files and folders.

Kimblee rested his hand on it. The ID number on the top of the pile belonged to Ed, 089. He tapped the label roughly with one finger as he looked up at the doctor. "You were just in his room?" he asked. While Ed was definitley one of the most troublesome, he was also undoubtedly the most promising of them all. An attention getter no matter what he was doing and a pain for Kimblee to deal with.

"Yes, sir."

"Care to fill me in on his condition?" He knew he could read a generalized overview of it in his file later, but, since they were both here...

"Well, he's...not handling the withdrawal as well as we'd hoped, but he's managing somehow..." he began, and Kimblee flipped open the file so he could easily follow along. He noted the medicine chart, outlining the gradual changes it had undergone since Ed nearly died on the Amytal. Doctors had been substituting it at first in smaller and smaller amounts mixed with a placebo, then began switching it out with a different barbituate altogether once it reached low enough proportions. It looked like Ed's body wasn't falling for anything, though. This wasn't exactly Plan A, it was more like Plan D or E by now, any they were running out of options. He tuned back in... "...and his body should be completely free of everything in the next day or two-"

"Excuse me?" Kimblee asked.

"Um..."

"Look, how many times do I have to run this through your head? I don't want 089, or any other subject for that matter, completley clear of drugs. What we're doing here isn't that Hippocratic Oath garbage you doctors preach on and on about; it's _experimental_, and you follow my orders. Understand? No one else's." Kimblee lectured, frustrated. This wasn't about just one life, just Edward Elric and the drugs coursing through his veins, this was a matter as big as the entire country. All of Amestris had a stake in this. The idiocy of some people was mind blowing to Kimblee, and to think he'd just wanted to relax for once. "_God_, why would we even want him that _lucid_?"

"But we've already tried doing it your way on other patients. 089 is already in severe enough withdrawl, why put him through it again? His body might not be able to take it. Even now he's dehydrating, he has a fever, he's starting to hallucinate and they'll only get worse with any more drugs or trauma-"

"Look, just keep him on whatever it is you have him withdrawing off now," Kimblee glanced down at the chart open in front of him. He still sounded pretty aggravated, but he was toning it down. "Whatever this Phenobarbital crap is. I want him on those drugs."

"But, sir-"

"And get him ready for the interrogation room again tonight. I don't care if you think he's ready for it or not, that's an order."

* * *

><p>Time passed as it always did for Ed, very slowly and quietly, and eventually he began to succumb to the only thing he had left to look forward to: <em>sleep<em>. He was half out of it when he door was loudly thrown open. He would have jumped from the suddenness of it if he could. His eyes opened in the darkness and he gasped in shock.

Doctors were never this loud, so in a split second he subconsciously figured it must be those soldier types again, and he was immediately proven right. His hands were freed, not that they'd do any good in the one strengthless second he had before they were grabbed again by the same men, and he was forced to his feet.

He cried out in shock, his own voice sounding unusual to him as his knees gave in. He was unable to support his own body. Along with the weakness came a sense of weightlessness as well, brought on by the drugs and the sickness he was enduring, an almost out of body sensation again.

He was half dragged and half carried by the squad of six gun toting, kevlar wearing soldiers into a room he actually recognized as the interrogation room, occupied solely by Kimblee. The man sat in the same spot he had when they'd last met, and Ed was brought to the table, his wrists once again immobilized by the straps set out in front of him. If this wasn't a case of deja vu he didn't know what one was.

Kimblee watched two of his soldiers setting Ed up for his stay in the interrogation room with only mild interest, silent. His silence continued as the men backed off, awaiting orders. He nodded once. They left the room.

He could tell that Ed was a little confused by this. It was the first time they'd ever truly been alone together. Kimblee refrained from showing any of his emotions, and he was particularly good at it. In his mind, he was plotting, for lack of a better word.

Ed glanced down at the middle of the table, empty unlike last time. He knew the teen remembered almost drowning and was sure it was probably one of the things that would stay in his mind through this entire process, as long as it may be. In the water's place was the cold, solid steel that comprised of the table's surface. Not much better a predicament when you're unable to really move. Ed was totally at Kimblee's mercy and he knew it. Kimblee could see it in his eyes.

But this had been almost a week of nothingness and by now Kimblee was running on fumes, whether he seemed in control or not. He hated to admit it, even to himself, and it made him despise the small blonde even more.

Ed looked like he wasn't in very good condition. His eyes easily described fatigue, even almost total apathy. He might have lost weight while he was detoxing, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed in a few days. Even though the seventeen year old was stuck in a bed for most of his day, he knew it wouldn't become a problem for a long time.

He spoke with a surprising amount of strength in regards to his condition. "Why are we-?"

Kimblee cut off the question. Ed's concerns were the least of his own. He went the direct route and started straight to the point, this medicine dilemma. "I've noticed a trend in your behavior as of late. You've started _deluding_ yourself, 089."

"I...I'm what?" It seemed like he didn't quite get it. Not surprising. He probably couldn't understand most things in his current state of mind, at least not without an explanation. It didn't matter how intelligent he was.

"Think about what you've been doing all this time. You came here screaming and swearing and fighting, and it did nothing but get you hurt. So, you resorted to this little silence game of yours, and that did the same. Now, you're combining the two behaviors. I have to respect your stubborn streak, but... what do you think it's getting you?"

Ed's gaze turned suspicious. He didn't break eye contact with Kimblee.

"I'm not saying this to scare you so don't think that. What I'm trying to do is show you the point you've been trying to refute all this time, and that's that you're not in charge of anything. You never were. _I_ have complete control over you."

The expression in Ed's eyes changed. Alertness came into them; he knew how important this was. "No." he tried, "You don't."

"You think so? Even when you're rebelling you're only making the situation worse, because I pump you full of drugs and they're damaging you."

Slowly, the blonde shook his head as Kimblee stood up and crossed the room. Thoughts he didn't know how to express anymore surfaced, but they stayed just hidden enough to keep rendering him speechless. Kimblee knew he was close. His hands closed around metal and he wheeled a TV over to the table, placing it beside his own chair. "I want you to see something."

Ed didn't say anything to it. No agreements, no disagreements, just the way Kimblee liked it. It only took a second to turn the thing on and press play. The footage was captured in night vision, tints of greens and blacks, but viewable all the same, and the shock on Ed's face became obvious a mere few seconds in.

"Oh my god..." The words escaped his mouth and Kimblee smirked as the video continued it's playthrough. He was sure there were a few memorable quotes lodged somewhere in Ed's half-aware mind:

_"...low heart rate..."_

_"...drop in body temperature..."_

_"I think he's overdosing."_

"Oh my god." He repeated it, just a little louder, maybe not even hearing it. This was the footage from his overdose a few days prior, a night Ed had probably been struggling to forget. Now, there was no way it'd be done. Not with the evidence right in front of his eyes, and he was too shocked to look away for even a second.

_"089? 089, stay with me!"_

_"We're losing him..."_

_"He's flatlining, someone get the paddles!"_

Right around the first flatline Kimblee began to speak again, give the kid something else to think about. He didn't want him passing out or anything. He needed his submission. "You know who caused that to happen? Me. It wasn't you; your disobedience only played a part because I chose for it to. In the end, _I_ was the one who decided you needed that."

Ed looked at him as he spoke, and he waited for something else. Kimblee doubted he wanted to see the rest of the tape. He reached a hand over and hit stop, bright blue light filling the room. It washed over the table, the chairs, and Ed, who didn't react to it at all. His hair caught the light, his skin paling under it, bright golden eyes suddenly appearing almost grey.

The silence was almost overwhelming.

"I could do it again, you know." Kimblee stated. He stood up, and he could hear his shoes click and echo softly against the floor, over the quiet drone of TV static. "Now," he continued, "I'm going to leave you alone for a minute, I have an errand to run. But when I return, you and I are going to have that talk I've been seeking for so long."

True to his word, Kimblee left a moment later, and Ed realized it didn't help at all. Just a moment ago he would have done anything for the man to just leave him alone, but now that the room was overtaken with silence he doubted it made any sort of difference.

And in his panic, the feeling of helplessness that had built itself up in his subconscious violently erupted to the surface of his mind. He lowered his head, closed his eyes. He didn't know what to do. He hadn't known what to do since he'd gotten here.

His chest rose as his breath hitched, and it reminded him that he was still breathing. He didn't know how he felt about that right now.

He hadn't realized he was crying until he felt the tears on his face. It was the first time since he'd gotten here and it felt just like yet another loss to him. He wanted to believe that Kimblee's logic was somehow twisted, but how could he when he couldn't even trust _himself_ anymore? How could he figure any of this out at _all_?

A thought struck him just as suddenly as the rest, and he had no idea where it came from but it made about as much sense as anything else. He struggled to keep himself less than hysterical, and so far had hadn't quite passed the line yet.

_This can't be happening_, he told himself, _This isn't real..._

* * *

><p>Al woke up just as the sun was rising, the sky a lovely pink-purple color and the house still mostly dim. Dim and quiet. He kicked the blankets off himself, remade his bed, and went downstairs.<p>

The first thing he did, as with any morning as of late, was head to the phone. He hit the answering machine and was greeted with that boring mechanical voice: "No new messages."

He sighed. It was almost expected, and that was what really bothered him. As of late he'd been looking for any sign of Ed that he could find. There were none. Literally, nothing. It was almost like he'd disappeared off the face of the earth.

He couldn't ignore it for this long; there was a problem somewhere and he was gonna fix it. Today, he was going to go out and if not bring him home than at least figure out where the hell he was. The time in the living room said 6:02 in the morning. He found his kitten, officially named Benson as of last night, lounging around on a windowsill, said goodbye to him, and made sure he had food. A minute later he was out the door and determined to find himself some answers.

* * *

><p>AN – Well, I was debating putting Al in this chapter at all but after reading through the little bit of a scene that was I'm glad I did it. Besides, this means I get to kick off chapter six with _Roy Mustang_! WHOOOO! XD

But, yeah, I'm plotting and everything. ^_^


	6. Break

A/N – First of all, great big oops about last chapter. I don't know _what_ made me lable it as chapter six. _This_ is chapter six. XD

Also, sorry about such long pauses between updates! I never really anticipate them but they always happen. What a pain... Well, school's back. I get early dismissal so I'm always home super early, but, I'm also AP so it feels like I blow all that time on homework. Ugh. -.-

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Six - Break <strong>_

At least the sun was officially up. Colonel Roy Mustang yawned, leaning back in his chair. His office was deathly quiet and boring. He had absolutely nothing to do today, and not in that pretending kind of way, either; he was seriously out of work.

It was the first time in months.

He'd done literally _everything _and he was bored out of his mind. He twirled pencils and flung rubber bands across the room, and he was in the middle of chaining paper clips together when he heard the click of his office door opening. His hands lowered over the jumbled mess he'd made and bored obsidian eyes focused on the source of the noise. He'd figured it was someone unusual; anyone used to the norm of Central HQ would have knocked.

It was Alphonse Elric. The sixteen year old didn't look very happy, and the bored feeling slid from Roy's mind in an instant. "Al." he said, unable to help the mild surprise in his voice. He hadn't heard from Ed in a while, since the discussion on Central's newest war, so he couldn't imagine why the younger Elric would show up here unless it was on his behalf. "What can I do for you?"

Al sighed, mentally preparing himself before he replied, "I think it's about time we had a talk, Colonel."

"Um... okay. What's up?" Now he wasn't bored at all. He propped his elbows up on the desk, fingers clasping into each other as he listened.

Al wasn't the most assertive person in the world. Just the fact that he was here demanding something, and to _Roy_ of all people, gave him a bad feeling right off the bat. He couldn't shake it. He knew it was stupid, that everything was obviously fine, but he couldn't help it. There was another short pause as Al thought, and then he finally began, "It's about Ed..."

"Oh, really?"

And just like that all his emotions spilled out. He spoke with hardly a pause, his voice both strong and worried at the same time. "How come you keep sending him on these _missions_ of yours? He's overworked! He didn't even come home and _talk_ to me the last time he left."

Suddenly Roy's 'paranoia', as he'd called it, didn't feel so uncalled for. He swallowed. "But I haven't sent Fullmetal anywhere since he returned from Pendleton the other day."

"W-what?"

"Yeah. You know it's mandatory now that all State Alchemists remain in Central until called on for deployment. It's been that way since the invasion." Roy began to explain. He sounded as professional as he always did. "He's supposed to be here. He checked in with me."

"But...but he's _not_." Al insisted. It seemed like their little discussion was only making things worse. The Elric sighed under his breath and finally asked the question they were both thinking. "So then if he isn't home, where do you think he is?"

"I don't know, Al. I have no idea."

"So then...?"

And then he remembered the last time he'd spoken with the Fullmetal Alchemist. Ed hadn't been his usual happy self; that much was obvious. "Look, don't overreact, Al. Last I heard from him, he was very unhappy about this war. I don't really think he knows what he wants right now. Maybe he's taking some personal time, you know, so he can figure his own thoughts out."

Al looked like he was thinking about that. He frowned. "He would have told me something."

"You're _sure_? He's never done anything spur of the moment before?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Come on. He's _Ed_." That explanation was more than enough. Ed was known for thinking on his toes, and for acting on it without a doubt. A smirk graced the corners of Roy's lips, and he decided, "This probably isn't as big a deal as you think it is. I understand he's your brother and you worry, but I'm sure he's fine."

There was a pause between the two of them. Al looked unsure, but Roy was confident. He was confident enough that it wasn't hard for Al to place his trust in him. "You're probably right, I guess." he admitted.

"But, listen. Give it a few more days and if he's not back, you should come back to me. We'll do something about it. Good?"

"Good." Al agreed.

Roy could detect a hint of hesitance in it, but he figured it was the worry factor again. He felt pretty sure of his earlier decision. Ed would be okay. He'd drop some reassurance. "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Don't worry about it, Al, I'm serious. No matter what's going on Ed is _tough_. Understood?"

The doubt was clearly still there, at least a little, but Roy could see confidence forming in his eyes. _No one_ could deny Ed's strength. The younger Elric nodded. "Understood."

* * *

><p>After his discussion with Kimblee, Ed crashed pretty hard. It was awful. Every time he felt like it couldn't get any worse things somehow managed to top themselves. He was at the point where he refused to make another empty promise to himself. He couldn't expect anything. Not anymore.<p>

_This can't be real._

The thought had lingered in his mind for the longest. He could still vividly remember the first time it hit him in the interrogation room, and it hadn't left since. He'd been telling himself that this couldn't be real, none of it was, but he knew that in itself was a lie.

It was real. It was so very, very real.

All he wanted was close his eyes and go back to sleep. The first part was easy. There wasn't much else to do in a pitch black, mostly quiet hospital room but close your eyes and think, especially when you were bound to your bed. Sleeping was the hard part, but it didn't mean he wasn't about to try. If anything he still had his willpower.

He was in the middle of doing so when he heard the click of lights flicking on, and noticed the brightness forming in the corners of his eyes. He opened them and gradually adjusted to the light.

"Come on. Up and at 'em, 089."

This came from Kimblee. Ed should have expected to see him. Surprisingly, though, the anger wasn't there like it usually was. He was too tired, too _frustrated_, to feel angry. He could feel it welling up in the back of his mind but it never really came out.

He opened his mouth to reply, and what he was thinking was to demand exactly what he wanted, but he thought about that for a second. He paused. Then, he sighed, "I don't know what you want."

Kimblee rose an eyebrow at that, and there was a pause between the two of them. Ed had done something wrong again. He was _always_ doing something wrong. Nervous, he closed his eyes in defeat. Whatever Kimblee had in plan, he just wanted it to be over with.

It was a small glimpse into his current state of mind, hardly much at all, but Kimblee caught it. He'd been waiting for it for days. Ed didn't have much left to give. Upon this realization, the older man smirked in satisfaction. It went unnoticed.

He was going to have to head on up to Bradley's office now, and tell him 089's real training could finally begin. They'd gotten him.

* * *

><p>AN – _God_, what a short chapter! Sorry for not giving you guys your time's worth... :(

I just, once again, didn't see how I could prolong these scenes. I'd gotten advice that I shouldn't worry about all that, anyway, but, that didn't stop me from spending a few days trying. I don't know, guys, I'm sore from PT-ing and tired from school and all messed up.

But _next_ chapter should be interesting! ^_^

They can finally move on to other phases, and we'll get to see tons of new stuff. Yay! I finally get to tap that unused file of 'Deathless' ideas! I'm so stoked. :D


	7. Phase Two

A/N – Wow. I never would have thought this story would be so successful. :D

I decided the other day that when I hit 100 reviews I want to do something special. I don't know _what_ yet, it's just that I've never had 100 reviews before so I'm pretty excited for it. I'll totally wanna celebrate. XD

I can't draw anything, though, so unless we all want stick figures nothing's gonna happen with that. -.-

But another, kind of more serious thing: I've noticed as chapters pass I'm beginning to lose more regular reviewers. I'm still getting a decent ammount of hits and everything, but I wanted to make sure I'm not doing anything wrong? Are you guys bored or have you just kind of gone quiet or what? :S

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Seven – Phase Two <strong>_

Papers, papers and more papers. The workload in the beaurocracy known as Central HQ never seemed to end. Roy crossed his legs behind his desk and sifted through his current mess. He was tired and groggy, but what else was new? He reached for the cup of coffee along the edge of his desk and took a sip. He noted how strong it tasted and frowned.

He told himself that he should eventually invest in a secretary.

A minute passed in pretty much silence and as things cleared up he realized that he was missing something. He was _always_ missing something, and ninety nine percent of the time it was at least partially Ed's fault. This was one of those times. He could have sworn he remembered telling him he expected a report from him for his latest mission, the one to Pendleton.

It wasn't here. That had been a long time ago. While the seventeen year old might not enjoy paperwork, he was never quite this late. He continued to sift through the papers, confused, and began to reflect on his discussion with Al yesterday.

Ed wasn't at home. He wasn't _anywhere_, according to the younger Elric.

Roy had told him he was worrying a little too much, but maybe it was really Roy not worrying enough that was the problem. He couldn't deny the wierd feeling in the back of his mind. He finished shuffling through the remaining paperwork one more time to make sure it was completely empty of anything bearing the signature of the Fullmetal Alchemist. There was nothing at all.

Maybe he'd give Al another call and make sure he hadn't shown up sometime in between their conversation and now. Right as he was reaching for the phone in began to ring of it's own accord, so loud that Roy literally jumped back in his seat with a shocked cry.

Heart just slightly racing, he reached for the phone and answered. "Mustang." he said, his voice level and professional.

"Hey, man," greeted a familiar voice on the other line. "This is Hughes. You're wanted down in Interrogations, you know."

"Crap." was Roy's immediate response. He'd barely noticed the word slip from his mouth.

"Busy?" Hughes asked.

He was obviously just curious, but for some reason Roy didn't want to divulge any information at all right now. Even _if_ it was nothing more than worries. He just shrugged the question off and lied, "No. I'll be right there."

This would have to wait a while.

* * *

><p>Two days passed. Ed was still pretty much shut down. He'd stopped eating. He hardly slept anymore. Kimblee hadn't ordered him on any more of the sedatives, and he hadn't realized how dependent he'd been on them to actually fall asleep before then. When he did manage to get some sleep now it was obvious he didn't want to wake up.<p>

He was tired of this. He was tired of what had become of his _life_.

He'd just been dozing off when the door to his room slammed open. He didn't even need to look to recognize the slow, paced footsteps of Kimblee stepping into the room, and along with him followed the urgent and heavy boots of his secret soldiers.

This might be important. It wasn't every day his room was so full. Exhausted, he rolled his head to the side and fixed his sight on the older man. He wasn't even vaguely curious.

It was the first time Kimblee had laid eyes on Ed since he'd reached his breaking point two days ago. He smirked to himself and stopped about halfway across the room, in front of his trusty soldiers. Ed had a look of tired apathy in his eyes. Kimblee spotted it immediately. He'd seen the look in other test subjects before. "How are you, 089?"

Ed spoke as if he wasn't used to his own voice anymore. "Tired." was all he replied. It was obvious that the only reason he was speaking was because he was being spoken to.

He knew the risks that came with disobedience well now.

"Huh." the older man replied. The way he said the word really grated on Ed's nerves, his tone sounding casual but coming off as annoying as far as he was concerned. He refrained from saying so. He was more concerned with watching Kimblee begin to close the distance between them.

Ed wondered if he held a needle, or if he wanted to shock or drown him some more. His thoughts came in random, brief rushes of information through clouds of haze. He was conscious enough to have understanding but not focused enough to have _complete_ understanding.

Kimblee stopped right in front of the bed, Ed wordlessly watching him. Across the room his soldiers did nothing. They never did anything. He resisted the strong urge to flinch away as Kimblee reached down for his wrists. Fingers touched skin and wrapped around the ties that bound him to his bed. "Let's see what it's like taking these off your wrists, shall we?"

Ed thought that was what he wanted, but he never knew what to expect anymore. He didn't know why Kimblee was so willing to free him all of a sudden and it put him on edge. He swallowed back fear and silently waited, remaining silent.

Kimblee nodded to his group of men. One of the soldiers approached him. He used his hands very roughly. He pulled bindings undone with careless speed, and before Ed could even realize he was able to move, let alone to bring his hands down, he was grabbed by the soldier and tugged up into a sitting position. Ed gasped, his voice coming out surprisingly sharp and still feeling just a bit foreign to him. A rush of lightheadedness swam into his head. It made him sick to his stomach. He didn't fight the man's grip, he knew he couldn't and if he tried there would be hell to pay.

"On your feet." Kimblee ordered.

Ed didn't even need to move. He was pulled up and out of bed, and as his feet hit the floor he cried out and stumbled, weakened from days of inactivity and drugs. He didn't come too close to hitting the floor, the soldier crouching down and effortlessly catching him only to pull him back up. He made a point of keeping the small blonde steady until he felt he could stand with enough strength to do it on his own.

Kimblee watched the events unfold themselves without complaint. He watched Ed shakily force strength into himself, and as seconds wore into minutes he was finally standing on his own two legs again.

It hurt, but he told himself to suck it up. What could go wrong? If he'd learned anything from the military, it was that strength was ten percent physical and ninety percent mental. He'd make himself as strong as he needed to be to stay on his feet.

It was a good thing he was so determined not to give in. Kimblee nodded once, impressed. "Okay." he decided, "Good, 089. Let's try something else while you're still standing."

* * *

><p>Fuhrer Bradley could still vividly remember the last discussion he'd had with Kimblee regarding the WARRIOR Project. It had been late last night. Phase One training had progressed and now many test subjects were ready for Phase Two training, and even though the Fuhrer had yet to give any go aheads to anyone, Kimblee was determined to rush right in. He claimed he was very in touch with the medical staff and their experiments, and he claimed that preliminary tests showed passing results. Bradley had asked what he considered passing. It was 40%.<p>

Phase Two training had about a 40% survival rate at _best_.

Bradley knew that once they began these tests on live human beings, though, that rate would cut drastically. It might even cut in half, bringing it down to a solid twenty. If that was how it was going to be then they could cut out a _very _large chunk of men from any operations they were going to plan.

Kimblee felt that because the pre-screening process was very intensive all his men were going to survive this, but he was deluding himself; he was in for a rude awakening later.

"We're rushing into this." Bradley had tried to subtley warn.

All he'd gotten was a quick, "No we're not."

Kimblee was like a kid in a candy store, and he was currently with his prized epitome of which the WARRIOR Project could eventually reach: Subject-089. Fullmetal Alchemist. Edward Elric.

Bradley reached the door to his room. It was large and very heavy looking, composed of a strong metal, but he used his key to unlock it and once he pushed against the tough structure it gave in easily. He opened the wide door and stepped inside.

The first thing he saw was Ed's legs giving in. The blonde appeared fatigued to the extreme, and it was obvious how hard he pushed himself just to stand stationary. Moments before he could hit the cold, solid ground he was scooped up by a soldier. The man appeared agitated, as if this had happened many times before, and lined up along the walls stood a nice, neat row of more of the men. They wordlessly watched. A few looked over at the Fuher as he gracefully entered the room.

Kimblee crossed his arms and a weak moan caught in the back of Ed's throat as the soldier began guiding him back to his feet. It would have been better to keep him physically active during this first phase of the training process, but he was an alchemist. Exceptions had to be made.

Besides, maybe by now he wasn't even _aware_ of his alchemical abilities anymore.

Bradley then looked to Kimblee, reasonable questioning in his eyes. The man shrugged. "Just limbering him up a bit." he casually explained.

Bradley made a soft noise of acknowledgement.

"He's ready."

He knew how certain Kimblee was of that fact, but _he_ wanted to be the judge. Ed, 089, had such a small ammount of strength in his body as it was. All of it would be taken from him if this operation went into effect as he was.

As the soldier let go of Ed he was forced to plant his feet firmly into the ground. His chest rose and fell with each breath, heavy but obviously controlled. Even as a child of twelve, Edward Elric had been renown for his strength...

Would it be enough? Bradley stowed away all emotion and stoically replied, "Well, then go ahead. Proceed with it."

* * *

><p>Things set into motion quickly after that. There was no point in waiting anymore. The ammount of moving, regardless of how small it was, had drastically tired Ed out., and Kimblee allowed him a short nap. He knew the small ammount of activity had been like a three mile sprint for someone so drained. He might even be <em>sore<em> when he woke up.

Meanwhile, Kimblee took up residence in the very large, very state-of-the-art medical wing tucked away at the end of the base. The operating room, in particular, was what fascinated him most. The place reeked of science; plastics, chemicals and sickness. A multitude of doctors ran the place with a skill and confidance most soldiers could only dream of emulating. They knew what they were doing was important, and they did it well.

They were setting up for surgery.

Kimblee watched with mild interest. He sat in a smooth black chair almost in the center of the room, feet planted on the floor to prevent spin-prone wheels from moving him around much. Beside him was a large table. It contained needles and scalples, among the other medical equipment.

There were heart rate monitors and machines scattered around but in close reach. The room's piece de resistance was it's operating table. It was unusual in the highest sense; not flat and laying down like any other one but very tall, it stood with it's base on the floor, taking on the shape of a 'Y' with straps at the top and the middle. The subject, in this case subject-_089_, was placed on the table standing. His arms would be spread, one in each end of the 'Y', and bound by the wrist. His ankles and waist would also be strapped in. It resembled a torture device, in Kimblee's opinion, with the exception of the clean, stainless steel it was made of.

He glanced at the nearest doctor and began to indulge his curiosity. "Are we all set for the operation?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." came the casual reply as plastic gloves snapped on and clean white lab coat sleeves were slid over them.

"So how do you think it'll play out?"

"It's much too early to tell. We can never know until long after that first incision has been made. That's why we keep so much equipment at hand. It's a hugely unpredictable procedure, sir."

Kimblee knew it was because it hadn't been done prior to the WARRIOR Project. He shrugged and dismissed the thought. "Well," he replied, "we're taking years of previously _useless_ research and turning it into something that actually works. Be proud of that."

The doctor sighed. He never got in a reply, though. Across the room, the medical bay doors slid open and a small squad of soldiers stepped inside. Carried in one of their arms instead of being dragged like most cases rested Ed, barely conscious.

He blinked his eyes in an attempt to get used to the bright lights, finally groaning in defeat and closing them. One of his hands reached up and instinctively moved, with an unusual edge of weakness, to cover dark rimmed eyes. He was in a sedative haze yet again. He'd been pumped full of Amytal as soon as he'd fallen asleep in preparation for this, and now he was dangerously balancing the line between high and overdosing.

This surgery was about to happen as planned. Kimblee got up to his feet as Ed was brought into the room. The soldier, one who hadn't been present earlier in the day, stopped in front of the operating table and tried to balance Ed's limp body in his arms, pushing him hard into the table. His back collided with metal and he tiredly cried out in pain, weakly protesting as his arms were snatched up, forced and bound above his head. He was in position moments later.

His head lowered, long platinum blonde hair spilled down his shoulders. He was too weak to struggle. He didn't even flinch as one of the doctors slid his top up over his hips. Skin was exposed and pale orange disinfectant spread over it. "If you would, Kimblee, please exit the room." the doctor said, as he reached for a scalpel from the operating table.

"Gladly." Kimblee replied. "I have paperwork to set in motion."

As he left he caught a glimpse of cold, sharp metal skillfully piercing the skin under Ed's ribcage. The seventeen year old whimpered in pain. His head temporarily raised and golden eyes paled as he caught sight of deep red blood beginning to trail down his skin. His breath hitched with a movement of the scalpel. The screaming didn't start until Kimblee shut the door behind himself.

He needed to be _awake_ for this proceedure.

* * *

><p>AN – Yay! Longer chapter! That's always good, and even better it only took me a day to finish. I was stuck at home, kind of sick (I guess if off on injury counts) and random inspiration hit me. I had all morning and afternoon to write.

That should happen more often, right? :D


	8. Aftermath

A/N – So, I think I've figured out what I'm gonna do once I hit the hundred review mark (next chapter, I think, _I'm so excited_!). It's gonna be awesome. I'm gonna write at _least _a double chapter, since that's what everyone suggested, but my goal (if I can reach it!) is 10,000 words. That would be like three chapters.

Hopefully, I can make it the full 10K! If not, I hope the double chapter would be alright! :S

There _is_ a downside, though. I think this chapter might be on the shorter side of chapters. Because if I'm going all out on a chapter that long, I want something I can work with. -.-

Also, I officially feel much better about the way this story is turning out. You guys were _full_ of support when I asked for it, so I guess I'm just naturally a worrier. I'm glad to know nothing's been going wrong! So, I guess for now I'll figure things are going _right_ unless someone complains! XD

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Eight – Aftermath<strong>_

It was early afternoon and, once again, Al didn't have much to do. The house was quiet and peaceful for once. By now, he was pretty sure he'd prefer the commotion of Ed running around the house, talking about dumb stuff and carelessly throwing around swear words in typical Ed fashion, over the quiet he usually had to ask for. He tried to forget about it by putting all his attention into a book. He'd always been a fan of philosophy.

His kitten, however, was not. Every time he'd move to switch a page Benson would charge from all the way across the room and pounce on either the book or his hand. Most of the time it was his hand, which was both painful and distracting. Not good for getting into a complicated topic like philosophy. He was just starting to focus again when his phone rang.

He closed the book and sighed under his breath. Just a little agitated, he picked up the phone and answered it. "Hello?" he asked.

"Al? It's Roy. I'm, um, sorry to bother you, but... have you by chance had any word from Ed since we've last spoken? Has he come home yet?"

Al paused at the sound of Roy's voice on the other line. It wasn't at all what he'd expected. He closed his book and dropped it on the table, expecting some kind of discussion. "No, not yet." he replied. Benson crawled across the couch and nudged his hand, looking to be paid attention to.

"Neither have I." Roy said, admitting, "I'm really starting to worry."

* * *

><p>The recovery wing didn't look nearly as disturbing as the operating room had. Well lit and just as off-white as any other hospital, it felt like a safe haven in a sea of misery. Edward Elric had been placed in a normal hospital bed, his arms unbound as he lay in a medically induced sleep, his surgery finally done and over with. He would be in pain when he woke up. <em>If<em> he woke up.

As day faded into night, however, he started to look like he was going to pull through it. This was good. They'd already lost three more men in today's augmentations. Files lazily held in one hand, Kimblee got his first look at Ed since he'd been brought into the operating room so many hours ago.

He obviously wasn't at his best anymore. He'd undergone blood transfusions, had to be put on oxygen for a while. His skin was pale and he'd been losing weight. Mentally, Kimblee doubted Ed came out unscathed. A soft slap of papers being dropped against the table was the first sound to break the silence, Kimblee dropping his file down before he sat.

"All these years..." he reminisced to himself. Five _long_ years of studying and experimenting had finally come to this. Many men had lost their lives in pursuit of the perfect soldier and many mistakes had been made. Ever since he'd been put in charge of this project he knew it hadn't been for nothing.

It just took the right leader to set it all into motion.

Fuhrer Bradley had run through a small handful of project leaders, but as far as Kimblee was concerned none of them were nearly as capable as he was. He'd shaped this into what it was now; a hardcore, effective program that was getting results as early as day one. No one else had come so far. He had confidence that Project Warrior, once set into motion, would bring about not only a swift and easy end to the Amestris-Drachma Conflict but also to any future wars. If anything, the steady beep of Edward Elric's fully functioning heart rate monitor was proof of that.

"We'll see how perfected it really _is_ soon."

* * *

><p>Roy Mustang was still in Central HQ. The work day was long over. After many hours of contemplation, he'd figured his best bet was to stay back for a while and log onto one of the many government owned computers labeled 'Classified' to see what was going on. It was the only thing he could come up with. Ed wouldn't just leave without saying a word about it to Al and Roy himself had warned him against doing anything reckless while all State Alchemists were on an ordered standstill. But if Roy had to guess that <em>anyone<em> could make Ed disappear like he had, it would have to be the military.

Regardless of time, he didn't need to sneak around the building. He was a Colonel, after all. He could walk into all kinds of restricted areas. It was easy to gain access to the information he needed. In the directory he spotted it; a document simply labelled _'Maj. E. Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist'_. He clicked it, hilighted everything, and printed a copy out for himself to bring back to his office before taking his leave.

He'd hardly made it out the door before he was glancing at the file. Everything was proper and military; heavily detailed contracts signed with fingerprints and photo identifications, riddled with codes and abbreviations. Everything he'd done from the time he enlisted up to now was in that file. He absentmindedly flipped through State Alchemist certification papers signed in the messy scrawl of a twelve year old and into the most recent things he could find.

By then he'd reached his office and hardly even noticed. In the back of Ed's file he caught sight of something he didn't like at all. Deployment papers. He didn't even register it until he read the words:

_Status: Deployed – Drachma_

He practically felt his jaw drop in response. He'd been looking for anything else; something typical and Ed-like, anything he could have had to submit in writing and just somehow managed to slip past Roy. He was like that. He'd never liked to deal directly with the older man. So, he'd expected that the seventeen year old simply left to chase another lead. Not wanting to put his younger brother in harm's way, he didn't say anything to him and didn't tell Roy where he was headed lest word reach said Elric.

He hadn't expected to find deployment papers. He sighed under his breath and corrected himself. No, he figured he always knew it was a possibility... He just hadn't been ready to see it yet. No one had said anything to him about Ed's deployment, yet he was the superior officer. As far as anyone else was concerned he _still_ didn't know Ed's exact whereabouts. That wasn't normal. Roy knew he couldn't argue with the military's decision, Ed knew full well what he'd signed up to do, but the feeling of dread settling in his stomach only intensified as he continued to read.

_Condition: Unknown_

"That can't be..."

* * *

><p>Ed snapped into consciousness just as suddenly as he always did, yet somehow it was so much worse. His senses flooded with panic and pain. It was so dark all around him he worried his eyes might not be open at all. His mind urged him to move but his body ached with just the simple act of taking in each breath.<p>

He couldn't think straight. Brief flashbacks of surgical knives and blood danced through his head.

He was on the verge of a full on panic attack and he struggled to calm himself down. He could feel his pulse speeding along, but even in his current state his eyes were adjusting surprisingly quick to what used to be almost pitch blackness. He was making out shapes and outlines, slowly forming into more intricate details, and he could see he was still in the same hospital setting.

The room was huge. He could see chairs and tables and beds, along with more medical supplies than he could count. The lights flipped on, invading the recovery room, and he immediately squeezed his eyes shut.

Kimblee watched his bright eyes slide shut, one of his hands reaching up to block them from the sudden brightness. He didn't even realize how free he was at that moment. The thought of alchemy didn't seem to cross his mind even once. Even if it somehow _did_, Kimblee felt safe standing in front of the miniature army he'd assembled to pick up said Elric from recovery.

"Good morning," he said with a smirk, breaking the silence, "089."

Ed softly murmured a reply, unwilling to move through the pain. That was fine. After what Kimblee still had in store for him, Edward Elric would never be the same again.

* * *

><p>AN – Hm. I'll refrain from criticizing my work, but... I'm glad I'm out of the whole brainwash-y/surgery deal by now. It's been a ton of chapters. Can't wait to get to _training_! Yeah! And since it's gonna be a super long chapter next time I suppose there'll be plenty of it.


	9. Partial Success

A/N – I'm kind of bummed it takes me so long to get new chapters out. But life _does_ call, I suppose.

Anyway, here's my special long chapter, since I've passed the 100 review mark and there's still plenty of story left to tell! I'm really excited. I hope you guys like it, because we all know it took me forever to get it published. :S

I think it's pretty nice that this is where the 10,000 word chapter landed, too, because this is around the point where things begin really changing and such...

Beginning a new chapter is always the hardest part. -.-

note to _**kimmy14**_ - You have PM'ing disabled. I tried to reply to your review and it didn't let me so I may as well reply here. Um... I've never played Deus Ex before. I really want to, though! Is it like this? Anyway, I guess my inspiration for it, though, could have come from many places. Like horror films and books and games like F.E.A.R. and Bioshock and Halo (especially the books and like ILB, like with the Spartan-II training program!)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Nine – Possible Success <strong>_

Ed's physical body felt fine for the moment, but his mind was the farthest thing from it. All he could remember was blood loss and tremendous amounts of pain. He was still sore, to say the least, to the point where he could feel a dull ache each time he took in a new breath.

But that was nothing. In the back of his mind he knew he'd been through much worse.

The infirmary was dimly lit, which he was thankful for. He'd gone through a small handful of other 'surgeries' in the time that had gone by, none of which had been easy, all of which had been traumatizing. In one instance he'd seen so much blood loss it literally made him pass out. He would have thought he'd be used to it by now.

Now that conscious, less panic attack induced thought had returned to him he kind of wished he hadn't passed out so he could have gotten at least an _idea_ of what they were doing to him. He was so uninformed on a process that affected him more than anyone else, and that really bothered him.

How long had it been so far? A soft sigh broke the silence of his room as he realized there was no way he could remember. He couldn't even tell how long an hour was let alone what he was doing a week ago. And the more he tried to remember the less satisfied he became with the answers those memories pulled forth.

He could recall brief flashbacks of seemingly random moments; of busy, crowded cities, of Roy teasing him about his height, of his home in Resembool, and his brother Al...

Then the torture. Quick glimpses of water and needles and strange machines; they were easily more vivid than anything else he could think of. _Speaking of torture_, he thought to himself, as the presence of another person suddenly struck him. He glanced over at the door as it softly opened.

And in walked Kimblee. He recognized him immediately. "You're looking well, 089." came his casual greeting. Ed remained silent. He was tired, and he was immediately dreading Kimblee's company. He watched the man as he headed across the room, pulled up a chair, and took a seat beside the bed. "Feeling healthy?"

Well, he couldn't call himself sick, exactly.

"Yes or no?"

There was a brief pause, but he hesitantly replied, "Yes." He didn't know what he had in store for him now, and he wasn't excited to find out, nor was he pleased with himself to submit to him so quickly. It felt like it came almost on instinct.

Without a pause, Kimblee replied, "Good. You're definitely shaping into something, 089. It's about time; you've been walking quite the tightrope these past few days."

"I have?" the blonde softly inquired.

Kimblee sighed. "Slightly."

Ed was smart enough to register the comment as what it was, though; an indication that he must have done _something_ right these past few days or weeks or however long he'd been there. It might have only been a slip-up in Kimblee's word choice but he could feel it. And he knew that he was trying to lie to him now. Slowly, he sat up. Soft, golden eyes locked with steely, cold ones.

Kimblee frowned, wondered what the hell was making it's way through Ed's tricky little mind.

"Do you remember the discussion we had once...about why I was brought here?" he finally asked, piercing the thick tension, the sudden, overpowering silence in his recovery room.

"No." the man instantly replied. "It must have been something you hallucinated up."

Ed shook his head no. "I remember it." he insisted, and strength gradually returned to his voice. It came with determination, with confidence in the fact that he finally had some direction. It may only be over such a small scope, one discussion, one instance, but it was the biggest opening he'd had in almost as long as he could remember. And with his determination came a stronger recollection of what had happened, making it all the more easier. "You were the one who wanted to have a conversation with _me_." he began, "And I didn't want to talk to you."

With the flashbacks came a flood of emotions he was almost shocked to admit to. He swallowed, and continued, "I was scared, and upset, and I had no idea what you wanted from me or what you expected me to say but no matter how many times I told you that you insisted I say anything. You wanted me to 'prove myself valuable' to you."

Kimblee arched an eyebrow.

Ed didn't stop. "It was when you threatened to kill me that I finally spoke up. I said I'd already done that for you, proven my worth when you took me from wherever I'd been before. And when you denied that and said you could do this with anyone you so chose, I spit in your face. You don't remember that? It was only after I'd done that when you decided to attack me, right?"

The man released a breath. Finger intertwined, his hands rested in his lap. He was studying him. As calculating as he always was.

"You remember that. I know you do."

"No. I don't."

How could he sit there and _deny_ one of the most important, significant moments of this entire 'process'? He sighed. He was getting just a little bit aggravated here. "Yes, you do." he steadily insisted. A very unusually defiant thing for him to do.

"Excuse me?"

"Your heart is beating way too fast for that to be the truth. And from the looks of it, your body temperature is rising, too-"

Kimblee effortlessly cut him off. "How could you know that?" he suddenly demanded. Ed almost wanted to flinch away from the question, as if he were ashamed of it. He quieted himself immediately. Kimblee refrained from smirking. The power struggle had definitely shifted in his favor. Almost too easily.

His fingers separated, and he tapped them along the chair's arm rest, slow and gentle, but Ed heard it all too well. His free hand slipped into his pocket. Fingertips clinked against hollow glass. A syringe?

"Don't."

The smirk finally showed on Kimblee's lips. Ed noticed him draw back, however. Finally he decided, "Very well. Let's get you out of the recovery wing instead. How's that sound?"

Ed honestly didn't know.

* * *

><p>Roy finally picked up the nerve to give Al a call in the early morning, once he'd been in the office for an hour that felt like a lifetime. He took his time dialing the familiar number. Al picked up after only a few short rings.<p>

"Hello?" the younger Elric asked.

Roy wasn't pleased about being the bearer of bad news, but someone had to do it. Roy figured that if he hadn't gone snooping around the other night Al might not have found out about what was going on at all. "Good morning, Al." he replied.

"Colonel Mustang? I hadn't expected to hear from you so soon." His tone immediately switched up, almost sounding nervous already. Roy didn't drop in a call for no reason. "Is something the matter?"

"Well, I have some news about your brother."

Al didn't say anything. Just waited.

Roy still needed the pause before he finally managed to spit it out. "His records say he's been sent on a deployment. As far as the government is concerned, he's fighting in Drachma as we speak."

"_What_?"

"The funny thing is he never said anything to me about it. He just left. So, did he happen to say anything about it to you-"

Al's response was immediate. "No! I know I would have remembered something that important." he insisted, and paused before adding, "I don't understand why he would keep quiet about that. He's never hidden something so serious from me before..."

No, Roy doubted Ed ever would. And he didn't like hearing the younger Elric sound so upset. He kept his own emotions in check and calmly replied, "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. But he's gone."

It almost felt like he was giving some kind of death notification.

Al sighed, audible, over the other line. "Okay." he finally said, "Yeah. I've gotta go, Mustang."

And then he hung up on him, leaving Roy even more puzzled than he'd been before he called.

* * *

><p>Fuhrer Bradley came in for a routine check-in later into the night, after a long, slow work day. Project WARRIOR had been in motion for over a month now, and Edward Elric had been a test subject for little more than a week. Bradley was almost anxious to see the results. He'd placed a ton of faith in Kimblee on this operation and he couldn't deny he was becoming more and more nervous as the results continually didn't pan out with what he'd been promised.<p>

He found Kimblee working in one of the interrogation rooms. It was the same one he'd nearly drowned Edward Elric in, and ironically enough the small seventeen year old was right there across the table from him. Unbound. There was no water or electroshock therapy or torture-esque videos inside the room this time. They must be working on something more serious.

The large, metal door never opened quietly, and they were both aware of the Fuhrer's entrance. Kimblee turned his head and glanced over, but Ed didn't even move to acknowledge his presence, his head down on the table. He must be exhausted.

"Ah." Kimblee said as the two laid eyes on each other, "Good to see you."

"Likewise." the Fuhrer replied.

"What brings you down here?"

"Oh, just coming to watch things progress. What are you working on?"

Kimblee smiled. Literally, more a smile than a smirk, proud and uncharacteristically exuberant. He had good news. "Watch this." he said. He leaned down, picked up a small, tin box in one hand and brought it up to the metal table. "089."

Ed sighed. He still sat up, without complaint glancing at Kimblee for some kind of an order. Instead of something direct, Kimblee shook the box a couple times. There were pins inside it, and they shook and bounced off corners, rather loud and repetitive. It was a quick action, though. Then the box was resting on the edge of the table.

Kimblee asked, "How many pins were in that box?"

Without hesitation, Ed answered, "Twenty."

"Correct. Good work."

Ed didn't say anything back.

Bradley unceremoniously turned to leave the room. Kimblee stood up to follow. As he did, he glanced at Ed once more. "You stay where you are, 089. Understood?"

"Yeah." The answer was a lot less proper than he wanted, but, he couldn't complain. In the back of his mind he knew that Ed most likely only agreed to those terms because he was aware of the armed guards stationed in the room. Not to mentioned stationed throughout the entire base. He'd had his fair share of experience dealing with those men. Kimblee would have like to establish some respect into the teen regardless, but he left, anyway.

Fuhrer Bradley was just stepping into the hallway. The door shut behind the two of them, loud and echoey. "What did you think, sir?" he asked.

"I think it's too early to make assumptions." Bradley explained, and before Kimblee could even speak he added, "_Despite_ the surprisingly rapid progress you've made."

"There's so much promise in this work, though. It's been almost six years, a cumulation of the works of so many scientists and scholars, and we're almost there. With that idiot Brigadier General out of the picture we've been able to really push the envelope. Chimeras are almost perfected to a flawless science-"

"_Almost_."

But Kimblee was undeterred. "Think of the possibilities! Unbreakable bones, lightning fast reflexes, incredible endurance..." It didn't look like the Fuhrer was completely into it. He'd never been. Honestly, his reluctance bothered Kimblee, especially now. Especially after he'd proven how capable a program this was that he was running. "Ed's as good a DELTA model as any other. So, are you ready to end this war or not?"

His arguments were always very persuasive. Bradley sighed. "How are his attitude problems?"

That struck the wrong note. "They're... Well, they still hang around a little. Just not so much."

"If you want this to work, on a soldier like the once famed Fullmetal Alchemist especially, you're going to need to wipe his mind completely. Of all those little predetermined philosophies and ideals, so that you can actually reconstruct them. He needs obedience and finesse. Not another stubborn phase. We're too far into this to turn back now, so, make it work, Kimblee."

"Are you suggesting we backtrack?"

"I don't know. You're the one in charge of this project. I'm _suggesting_ you get your test subjects in line. Don't think I'm not aware of your conversation with him in the hospital. You knew you hadn't converted him, yet you still signed him up for augmentations."

"I have him under control."

Did he really? He looked for any hesitance in him, but there wasn't any. "I hope so." he replied, and then he took his leave.

Kimblee continued to stand there, almost dumbfounded. He sighed. Fuhrer Bradley expected drastic from him? Well, he was about to get it. Definitely drastic. There was a soldier nearby. He made his way over to him, began to prepare things for Ed's next trial. One of the best ones.

* * *

><p>"You're going to be a soldier. You chose this life for yourself. You may not remember it, but, that's why you're here, 089." Kimblee announced.<p>

The interrogation room was as quiet as always. It was a dreary place; dull, bleak, and lifeless. The sight of it was almost enough to suck the energy out of a person, and after spending a full day surrounded by it, it easily did so for Ed. The blonde perked up at the sound of Kimblee's voice, however. He watched and listened intently.

But he was full of questions, as always. They could both see that. "I don't understand-"

"You wanted this." Kimblee insisted. "_You_."

Almost as if on cue, the door swung open. Armed guards stepped in with an escorted prisoner. Kimblee watched them half lead and half drag him in by his arms. As they did, he slapped a loaded pistol onto the table.

Everyone noticed. Ed's eyes flickered over towards the weapon before focusing back on Kimblee, then the prisoner. Said prisoner was freaking out; he'd been picked up almost at random from the jail on base, someone on death row, someone who wouldn't be missed by the general public and who was already as good as dead.

Perfect for an experiment like this.

He was screaming and shouting, demanding to know what the hell was going on. Terrified. Ed, for once, wasn't the least calm person in the room. The blonde inched back in his seat a little before asking in a soft voice, "What are you doing with him?"

The guards shoved him forward and the door behind them slammed shut. He stood there, helpless and cowering, wrists bound. Broken. Ed looked to Kimblee for answers, because he'd never seen the man in his entire life.

And he wasn't liking the presence of that gun.

He opened his mouth to speak up again, but Kimblee finally started to explain. "Do you see this man, 089? He's a criminal. A mass murderer, and a wartime criminal. The kind of person you, a soldier, should have a natural disdain for, correct?"

The blonde cocked his head. Suspicious. The prisoner quieted himself, just enough to ensure Kimblee was heard by everyone.

"Do you, 089?"

Ed looked at the man. This was another one of those discussions, another mind game. "I..." he began, then switched that thought up completely. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's not so much what _I _want you to do so much as it is what something so... simple, I suppose, as war would want you to do."

So simple as war? Ed wasn't in any wars. But when he thought about it, he was able to recall experiencing combat at one time or another, brutal and sudden in all it's adrenaline fueled motions. He just wished the memories weren't so hazy. He waited for further explanation as the first dull sensations of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Assassinate him."

Ed's vision flickered towards the pistol once again in recognition. He had his doubts almost instantaneously. Slowly, as if he were unable to make the right words, the prisoner shook his head, speaking wordless pleas: _Don't do it. Don't do it_.

"I've even been so kind as to provide you with a weapon."

Ed could see the desperation in his eyes, the fear.

But he never once thought to stop.

Tentative, one of his hands reached for the pistol. Fingers wrapped around cold metal as he hoisted it into his palm. Almost numb to the action.

"On your feet." Kimblee ordered, mellow, as if issues like life and death were completely below him.

Ed did. He edged the chair back, stood up to his feet. Kimblee was just a few feet away, and Ed made his way over to him, stood directly across from the worried, fearful prisoner. He shed all emotion from every action that followed on instinct.

Blank eyes scanned the prisoner's vulnerable, shaking body, and he steadied his arm out straight, the gun in his hand settling with a hollow click as he aimed it dead ahead. At the man he'd never even seen before.

"No." he whispered in response.

"Do it." There was a second's pause, the beginnings of an internal conflict inside Ed's mind. Kimblee was quick to ruin that. To keep him under control. "This is what it means to be a part of our military. To serve your country, to protect the ones you love."

A brush of Ed's thumb. The safety clicked off.

"Do it, 089. _Now_."

Ed refrained from words, from hesitance. The slightest shake of his hand as his grip tightened, almost vice-like. But it only took a little bit of effort to push someone so damaged. His finger squeezed the trigger.

A loud blast pierced the air.

The bullet hit it's target dead on. A strangled gasp as the prisoner's body was blasted back and he fell hard.

The guards didn't move to help him. Kimblee didn't budge from his spot beside Ed.

Blood began to spill from the man's chest, where he'd been dealt a very painful death blow. His chest shallowly rose with each breath he tried to suck in. Ed could hear his breath hitch with the effort it took and the pain it forced into him. It wasn't pretty.

Ed could _smell_ the blood in the air; strong and metallic and almost unexplainably unusual.

His free hand reached up, fingers brushing against his cheek, coming back tinted red with blood that wasn't his own, that had spattered onto him from the damage he'd dealt. The sight of it sickened him almost as much as the overpowering scent.

"I didn't think you could actually do it." Kimblee mused, "I'm impressed."

Somehow his approval made the action feel dirty.

Kimblee nodded towards one of the guards. "Shut him up. And get him out of here."

Ed squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, pistol dropping from his hand as he heard the sharp crack of a combat boot coming into contact with hard skull. Soldiers dragging a dying body out of the interrogation room. He swallowed. Wiped more blood off his face. If he could have anything, it would be a shower without a doubt.

He'd killed someone. Ended a life.

He told himself that and finally realized what it encompassed, and what he'd been so randomly ordered to do. He was shocked he could do something so inhuman. And on nothing more than orders. A shaky breath escaped his lips.

"You'll have to do this many times, 089." Kimblee plainly stated. "And you'll have to learn not to over think it. I can help make this much easier on you. You just have to be willing to work with me."

Ed didn't want to think at all at the moment. As Kimblee leaned down and scooped up the pistol, he said, "I just want to go back to sleep."

"Very well. I suppose there's no harm in that."

* * *

><p>A day flew by like nothing. After years of unintentional practice, Roy Mustang could easily lose himself in his work. It didn't matter how unhappy he was.<p>

Hell, being unhappy might even _help_ the cause.

And he was certainly unhappy about now. War time just had that affect on soldiers; drained them, worried them, confused them. He'd been surrounded by it for years yet war was the one thing he could never fully wrap his mind around. It was too flawed, a blemished concept in itself, with constantly changing rules and philosophies. Men with guns, hired killers who'd shed blood to bring about peace.

It bothered him even more to be left out of it. Working a desk job. As he realized he was approaching the end of another work day, conscious thoughts dawned on him and suddenly he was wishing _he'd _be on deployment orders just like the rest of his team.

He began throwing things together in a quick effort to get the hell out of HQ. Maybe he could fill in a request, but...

His fingers carelessly settled on a few sheets of paper. He recognized them almost immediately, slid them off the hard wood desk and into his hand. These were Ed's, he remembered, a printed copy of his deployment papers to Drachma. Even the seventeen year old had been pulled into the ever growing border disputes.

He frowned. His own memories of first deployments surfaced in his mind as if they'd never gone anywhere to begin with. He knew how the situation would play out; Ed's miserable infantry life, balanced with the shock of what combat was really like and the sudden bond of comrades thrown together through a special sort of suffering. He'd see bullets fly and bodies fall, and he'd be the cause of many deaths.

He'd come home changed, because war changes everybody.

And he could see the scenario playing out so clearly in his mind. He might just believe it to be possible. But then again, paperwork was just paperwork, words typed up by any person's hand. He unfolded said paperwork and read it again. He'd lost count by now of how many times he'd done it but it never bored him. Those papers.

Ed had never told him anything about a deployment. Granted, he didn't _have_ to say anything, and Roy had to admit that he didn't exactly know how the seventeen year old would handle such a shaky issue as combat, but this wasn't the way he'd imagined it. So uncharacteristic. He hadn't told Al, either.

Roy had never been one for following such inconspicuous hunches, but this might just be the exception to that rule, if only he knew where to begin. Or had some probable cause. He sighed, soft and quiet and under his breath, and leaned back in his chair.

Well, he'd already spent one late night at HQ this week so far. He may as well pour himself another cup of coffee and put in one more.

* * *

><p>Sleep, as great an idea as it sounded, had been almost impossibly hard to obtain. Ed's mind refused to settle itself. His body ached, however, and it occasionally pulled him into short, unsatisfying naps. He went through a few of those before giving in completely.<p>

He was back in his old room. Unbound and free to travel around the large space as he wished, not that there was anything to explore. It was the same crap minus the drugs and some of the medical equipment they'd had stationed around earlier. Probably just the things they didn't want him touching.

He wondered if he was still _on_ that stuff. For that matter, _why_ he'd been on it.

It wasn't like he could come up with a clear reason. He remembered the discussions he'd had with Kimblee, the fact that he 'needed' to be on it, and he didn't much feel like questioning it. If they'd intended to kill him with drugs it would have happened a long time ago, right?

He laid on his back, enveloped in dreary lighting and silence he was slowly growing accustomed to. It wasn't the total silence he used to remember, however, because if he really wanted to focus he could pick up on the occasional thing: rushed footsteps of soldiers and doctors alike, the clinks and slams of medical equipment being roughly treated, the unfamiliar screams of others...

They came in faint, but they came in nonetheless.

And they were the only thing that changed when he was locked up in his room. The only thing he could use to get his mind off the nothingness. He slid his eyes shut and listened.

He heard muffled words close by his door. He couldn't make out exactly what was being said, the damn walls felt practically soundproof, but he gradually put a face to the voice the closer it ventured to his room. Most likely on his way to speak with him about something or other.

The door pushed open.

"You're Kimblee's friend." Ed simply stated. He'd never shown up to speak with him alone. He opened bright, golden eyes and turned his head just slightly to look at the much older man. "Did you need me for something?"

"Just to talk." came the steady reply. No chairs in the room at the moment, Bradley crossed the room about halfway and stood there, gaze transfixed on the slowly strengthening blonde. As if he didn't trust him, disliked him even.

Ed sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet just barely touched the cold floor. He waited for Bradley to say something else.

"Were you sleeping?"

"No. I'm not tired anymore."

"You've had a long day today, though. You were ordered to kill a man." Bradley pointed out.

Ed didn't need to be reminded. He could remember everything vividly. Something he hadn't felt capable of doing in a long time. He nodded once. "And I did it." he replied.

"Tell me what happened."

Ed looked almost taken aback by such a request, but he remembered Bradley obviously hadn't been there for it and he recovered quickly. "Kimblee handed me a pistol and gave me a task. Assassinate a prisoner, carry out my job as a soldier, and I did as he ordered me to. Then I was brought back to my room, and I went to sleep."

"Very good." Bradley said. But it hadn't been close to what he was looking for. "Now explain it to me in your _own _words this time, 089."

This was when he began to slip up a little. He rose an eyebrow. "I don't-"

"Don't hold anything back. Just talk."

There was a moment's pause between the two of them. It was a confusing order, to say the least. More personal than the rest. "Well..." he tried, and almost didn't know where to start. Finally admitting, "I don't understand what you expect. It was just an order. Kimblee told me to shoot him, so I picked up the gun and I did."

"He's dead."

Ed swallowed. The tension built effortlessly.

"Was it really that easy for you?"

Once again, Ed was speaking on reflex, admitting, "I don't think I felt anything at all while it was happening. I don't think I could even register anything other than Kimblee's orders, so, I executed them like I was told to. It didn't even feel real to me at first."

Bradley was cautious to count anything as a win just yet. But disassociating was more than a good sign. It was _great_. Kimblee was the one to get wound up over the slightest hints of improvement, though, not him. "At first?" he paraphrased.

"It's obviously not so fake now. I wiped someone else's _blood _off my face. How could I deny something so obvious?"

"I guess you can't."

"So..." Ed paused again, hesitant to speak with this man he knew so little about. "So then what am I supposed to do with myself when I'm like this?"

"I can't give you a concrete answer when it comes to that, 089." Bradley answered. "But you did say that it was easier when you felt nothing at all."

Ed cocked his head a little, waited for an answer.

"Maybe that's the way it should always be." he explained, and it was final. Ed didn't even feel the slightest urge to question it, as if he didn't even know enough to ask anything at all. But Bradley studied him again for a moment, anyway, and mentally prayed to god this project was working. It was their best bet as of now. Everything was riding on it's success.

Ed leaned back until he was comfortably against the wall. The teen was currently balancing a very thin line; strength slowly returning to him, his body adjusting to intrusive augmentations, but his mind still trying to hold back and onto the way things used to be.

At the thought of such surgeries Bradley recalled to mind the moment he'd stepped into Ed's room tonight. The blonde hadn't even budged in his direction and yet, eyes closed and said Fuhrer as silent as always, he'd still known exactly who had intruded into his room. As if he could hear him out in the hallway.

Through soundproof walls.

* * *

><p>The beginning of an investigation was always the messiest part. It was hard for Roy to settle on an organized train of thought no matter what, but after putting in a couple hours worth of effort it felt like he might just be headed in the right direction.<p>

That is, if there really was anything he needed to find out.

He spent the last of his time in Central beginning the process of reviewing Ed's case files, hoping something was in there that could help, like information regarding _anything_ suspicious he could have encountered throughout one of his constant missions. It wouldn't be completely unfounded for something like that to happen. Trouble followed the Elric wherever he went. As far as Roy knew, the teen handled it well, but that could always change if the wrong person got involved.

He just wished he'd actually _found_ something. Bad news was better than no news at this point. He knew he'd barely scratched the surface and he was already getting impatient.

But it was late and he was tired to the point of losing focus. His mind would wander at random until he realized what was going on and managed to drag it back to his research, and by then he would lose track of whatever he'd been up to. And he was doing it more and more frequently.

There was no point in being here anymore. He threw everything together again, back the way it was, and got ready to head on home. Locking the door to his office behind himself, he headed into the hallway.

He'd barely made his way out the building when he was running into another soldier. He'd turned a corner and suddenly the two were almost face to face; Roy gasping in shock, taking a few steps back on reflex. He sighed once he figured he was out of harm's way and glanced up.

"Mustang? What are you still doing at Headquarters? It's already well past midnight, you should be home sleeping by now."

"Kimblee?" Roy replied, just as surprised to see the other man.

Kimblee responded with one of his all too familiar smirks. "That would be me." he said. Then it was back to, "So, Mustang, what's got you down here so late?"

Roy shrugged. "The usual. Paperwork. I'm on my way home now, but, things have been much busier since we've found ourselves in this new war, right?"

"Of course. That's how it always was."

"I guess."

"It was worse during Ishbal." Kimblee stated.

Roy shot him another glance, this one not as friendly. They both knew it was a sore subject. Was Kimblee trying to taunt him? He chose to remain levelheaded. "How come _you're_ still here?"

"Same as you. Last minute paperwork. Deadlines change around pretty randomly. _I've _still got a long ways to go before I'm out of here, though."

Roy was suddenly a little more appreciative of the fact that he could leave pretty much whenever he wanted to. Well, he did outrank Kimblee a couple steps. He was about ready to continue his own way when a thought dawned on him. And suddenly he was asking him, "Did you know they've deployed Fullmetal recently?"

"Your prodigy?" Kimblee replied, almost with curiosity. "I never thought I'd see the day we sent _that_ kid out to fight for us."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you've got such a tight reign on him is all."

"Yeah, apparently not. I didn't even know he'd been deployed until recently, and he's been gone for quite a while. Strange thing about it is he didn't say a word to anyone."

"Oh, really?"

"Not even his younger brother. I had to give Alphonse a call myself and tell him what happened."

Roy would have thought a statement like that could have garnered a little more surprised a response, but Kimblee didn't seem bothered by the statement either way. "Well, things don't always work out the way you plan them to, right?" he replied. "I've heard Fullmetal was very unpredictable. He just must not have wanted to tell you, that's all. Took his orders and left with them."

Roy didn't think Kimblee could claim he knew Ed much at all. Definitely not the way Roy knew the seventeen year old. Didn't that make his opinions, as basic as they were, a little less valid? "You really think that's what happened?"

"I'm almost positive." Kimblee insisted, "I'd be willing to bet a lot that Edward Elric is out on the front line right now, killing up a storm the likes of which haven't been seen since _we_ got out there."

* * *

><p>It had been a very stressful day, to say the least. Ed was <em>still <em>feeling stressed. He was bothered by the fact that he had no understanding of what was going on, and he was confused by the constant shifts in his own emotions. If he couldn't handle himself how was he supposed to handle his surroundings?

By letting Kimblee take care of everything?

He frowned at the thought and sat back up in bed. He didn't trust the man at all. His feet touched the cold floor and he gracefully stood up. He wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon. Not feeling as frustrated as he did.

He thought about the prisoner he'd killed. He hadn't known anything about him. He didn't know what kind of crime he'd committed, his motives...

He didn't even know if the man _was_ an actual criminal.

He'd simply gone off what Kimblee told him. And the truly disturbing part of it all was that he hadn't questioned him even once. It hadn't mattered how terrified or upset he was, he'd refused to do anything about it. Because of fear? Because it'd been what he was used to doing? Or because what Kimblee told him was actually right all along and they both knew that?

Ed didn't know.

The conversation he'd had with Bradley earlier hadn't helped his cause, either. He began to pace the small room, back and forth, trying to figure something out that would help clear his conscience. Anything.

"_But you did say it was easier when you felt nothing at all."_

That was the advice he'd been given. Funny, how different Bradley's definition of "just talk" was from Kimblee's. But Ed didn't fully _understand _either of theirs. It seemed like the men operated on hints and coercion and nothing else, and that Ed just couldn't be taught like that.

How was he supposed to just choose when he felt things and when he didn't? It was a human impossibility. There were things you just didn't ask of a person.

But that hadn't stopped them from having him kill.

He stopped dead in his tracks. In front of one of the hard, solid walls he was confined by. What did he do in a situation like this exactly? What he was supposed do when he couldn't sleep at night or act without orders, or hardly _think_ on his own let alone remember most things beyond a week was beyond him.

He was so sick of feeling like this.

Acting on instinct for the first time in a long time, he felt his fist strike the wall. Hard.

He released a breath and pulled his hand away. There was no pain. He turned around and pressed his back against the wall, glancing around the semi-emptied out room. Even though it hadn't hurt him at all, he didn't feel better, either.

He was slowly growing used to the silence of his room. It almost felt natural. Seconds wore into a minute, slow and quiet.

He could feel his hand shaking. Bleeding. Assessing the damage, he was surprised to notice the deep gash spread across his knuckle, skin easily bruising around it. It was definitely a small miracle he wasn't in any sort of pain at the moment.

He was gonna have to bandage this up somehow.

* * *

><p>Early morning. Bradley wasn't due in Central for at least another hour, but that was when project WARRIOR wasn't put into account. He currently walked through quiet hallways with Kimblee. Discussing said project.<p>

"I glanced through some files before I cam here." he stated, "We lost two more men over the course of the night."

Kimblee merely shrugged the comment off. "They weren't quite fit for the job is all."

"One of them was a suicide."

"A mistake by one of the doctors. They should know better than to leave heavy medications in any subject's room. He was dealt with, and I made sure it's not going to happen again."

"That's not my point, you know." the Fuhrer tried to explain.

"Then what _is _your point, exactly?"

"The fact that the potential is still there, lurking in the mind of every one of those DELTA models, and that's not what we want going on up there. How do you expect to breed obedience in that?"

"I think you're missing the point. They're unhappy because they're scared, and what gives way to obedience better than fear?"

The answer came short and simple. "Ignorance." Bradley replied.

Kimblee stopped dead in his tracks, and the older man stopped right beside him, almost waiting to defend his point. "I'm sorry?" his colleague replied.

"If you manage to keep the subjects mindless, they won't feel the compulsion to behave out of fear like you pointed out, but, they also won't feel the need to rebel against your control. Because listening to you will be all they know how to do."

"But-"

"The problem you have with this whole process is you're trying to rush into it with brute force, but that's not the way you win someone over. You need to go about this intelligently. It's not a war. It's a very complex, detailed procedure, and you cannot rush it or we'll get the wrong results. You're an alchemist. You should know all about that."

"But we _are_ getting results."

"Yes, I've heard about 089 killing under your orders. Very good. But I spoke with him that night, and he opened up to me. He talked about how hard it was to have someone else's blood on his hands and about the shocking reality of taking another life. He _did _admit that in the heat of the moment, it felt unreal-"

"Which means he's learned to disassociate. Is that not what we've been aiming for this entire time? Subject-089 is the perfect example of mind control at it's finest, and of-"

"He still has full control over his own thoughts. Because he remembered _everything _even once it was all over, and he felt so strongly about it he was able to build doubts and regrets based on his own actions. Actions he remembers having control over."

Kimblee sighed. There was a long period of silence between the two. He knew the Fuhrer was right after all, and he couldn't deny how angry that made him. "Then he needs to be put back on the Amytal and he needs either more electroshock or-"

Bradley rose an eyebrow.

Kimblee hated the condescension in it. If Fuhrer Bradley was so damn sure how to run the operation, why didn't he just do it? He stowed his aggravation and replied, at least sounding mostly level, "Well, what do _you_ think we should be doing about this?"

"That's for you to decide. You're heading our project. I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't have faith."

Kimblee refrained from any other sort of conversation until they reached the interrogation room. He had a busy day ahead of himself and it all started with subject-089. The damn kid, halfway brainwashed or not, had always managed to make his life a living hell in some form or another. Ever since he'd been enlisted.

"I'll be around to check on you." Fuhrer Bradley plainly stated as Kimblee's hand reached for the door.

"Yes, sir." came the neutral reply.

Kimblee pulled the door open and the Fuhrer walked away. He could hear his footsteps echo through the wide hallway, breaking the seemingly absolute silence carried into the interrogation room.

A few armed guards manned corners, toting guns, keeping their eyes on Edward Elric. The small blonde was seated on one side of the table, as per usual. Looking none too pleased.

Kimblee noticed the bandages he was wearing immediately. Bright white fabric trailed around the top of one hand, tight around his knuckles. Kimblee rose an eyebrow in curiosity. He hadn't remembered being told Ed was injured. The blonde silently looked up at him as he questioned, "What happened to your hand, 089?"

Even as he obviously expected an answer, Ed said nothing about it.

"Well?" he demanded, growing a little more impatient. Ed obviously couldn't say it was nothing. Not with an injury so obvious as that one. "Tell me what you did."

"Don't worry about it. I'm _fine_. It's just a small injury."

"That's not the point."

Ed looked away from him like a child being scolded by their parent. Kimblee wasn't about to let him get away with this. He made his way around the table and grabbed the blonde by his hand. Ed gasped as Kimblee wrapped his fingers around the bandages and pulled, tearing the fabric away from skin. "Hey-!"

Only to reveal nothing but flawless, healthy skin underneath. Kimblee shot a confused glance in Ed's direction. The blonde was just as surprised as he was. He _knew_ how deep that damn gash had been just a few hours ago, bleeding and bruised. And now it was just gone.

He swallowed. At least he could use this to his advantage in a way. "I told you I was fine."

Kimblee may have had a better idea as to _why_ Ed healed as fast as he did, but he didn't like not knowing exactly what the seventeen year old had done to himself. Bradley wasn't going to like hearing about this, either. There were going to be some kind of consequences for this if word got out.

* * *

><p>AN – I have my doubts on chimeras and chimera related things. I hope you guys find this acceptable. I also haven't read many stories with chimeras _in_ them (because I don't really read tons of fan fiction to begin with), but I hope this is one of the more original ones out there... As the story progressed I honestly felt sillier and sillier about the concept, and I was all like "oh, god, they're gonna hate me when I get to this chimera-esque arc," but I thought it'd be worse to just leave you all hanging. So, here we are!

Not too pleased with this chapter in the long run. -.- So next one will be better! :D

This Word document is seriously almost fifteen pages long. Anyway, I'm sorry, because this chapter didn't hit the full 10,000 words like I'd promised. It's more like 8,000. A little more than that, I think. So I'll make it up to you guys and write an extra thousand or so words for chapter ten.

I just couldn't fill this chapter up with any more stuff. Like, seriously, _running _out of crap to say, and I'd wanted it out before November. Besides, I'm hoping this took a long time for you guys to read anyway. I've never written something so _long_ before!

I hadn't realized what a challenge it was... o_o

Also, thank _god _I got my own spellchecker the other day! YAY! I feel so much better about posting things now. And now that I'm finished with _Deathless_, I can work on other stories for a while.

And happy Halloween in advance! I know I'm excited for it! :D


	10. Important?

_**Important notice?**_

Okay, so I _know _that I shouldn't be doing this and that it's probably really rude to you all so I apologize in advance for it. But I am pretty upset so I'm gonna ask for some help, okay? -.-

It's come to my attention that a certain author has _completely _copied this story. Whoever they are, male or female, they have copied the first chapter of 'Deathless' (along with my entire oneshot 'Homecoming' for their only other story) and posted it under the name 'Mind Control'. This is not their work and they have taken total credit for it. I'm really upset.

Mostly because it was literally copied and pasted! UGHHHH! :(

I want it removed. Really bad. So, please, help me out here? Report it. I put up a little disclaimer on my profile, saying some stuff about not copying my works and such, but, really, I don't think that'll get through to this author, anyway. I have also already reported it myself. Please?

Also, to make up for the rudeness of my sudden chapter of an A/N, I wanted to do something for you guys again. XD

Originally, I was gonna just write out a short scene or two and post it, but, that'd take me all night for Deathless since I'm still in the plotting phase, so I'm thinking maybe I'll just start some kind of correlating drabble or oneshot about this story. I just don't have a topic yet and I am waaay too aggravated to think something up right now.

And again, sorry for the interruption. :S


	11. All You Have

A/N – Oh, god. Last chapter was _so _hard to write out. Just because of length. I felt super brain dead for a while once it was done, because I'd decided to like spree write it all out, but I'd still count it as a success. I'm really glad you guys were all pleased with it! :D

Anyway, I've really been digging the philosophy as of late. Actually it was Halo (yeah, the video game!) that got me into it. So, here's what I'm thinking about now that I've finished going through my notes and began plotting out this next chapter: John Locke, old guy philosopher extraordinaire, claims that _"it is continuity of mental states that constitutes personal identity"_. Or in other words, by his logic, Edward Elric is no longer Edward Elric. Even just this far into the process. Through brainwashing, Ed's identity has changed. Someone else stands in his place, with different thought processes, feelings and memories. His own has been lost. He is not, nor will he ever again be, Edward Elric.

But there are multiple arguments to that claim. It's really interesting stuff. I'm rambling, but, you guys should go and Google philosophy of mind and check some of that stuff out. I'm serious! :D

And I bet Kimblee would be so happy with that definition. Makes his own job _that _much easier if it is true. XD

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Ten – All You Have<strong>_

Another day, another new opportunity to be confused. At least, Ed thought it was another day. He was still unable to tell those things. He could hear new weird things, and _feel _new weird things, but he still couldn't tell how much time was passing. That fact really bothered him.

It was horrifying to think of exactly how long he'd been locked up in here.

Mostly because he knew he could never come up with a good estimation, and no one here was going to tell him. He didn't even want to ask. If he said the wrong thing, he wound up paying harshly for it, and he was in no mood to be tested. He felt beyond weak. Both physically and mentally. Almost defeated.

And these little discussions with Kimblee...

They were really starting to bother Ed. Currently the blonde sat along the edge of his bed, watching him, listening as he spoke. Kimblee asked, "Tell me, 089, exactly how would you measure a life?"

Ed had no idea how to respond to that question at all. He hesitated. "Um..."

Kimblee insisted, as he always did. "No, really. How would you go about doing that?" There wasn''t much of a pause before he explained, as if expecting Ed to have some kind of life philosophy on it or something, "Are the innocent more entitled to life, or are we all equally entitled? What about criminals? Or the diseased, the disabled?"

Ed knew he'd be expected to answer at some point or another. He shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I'd never really thought about it enough."

"But you're a soldier. Surely you must think _something _about it."

"No." the blonde insisted, "I enlisted to protect. That's all. I never thought about _who _I was protecting."

"Why not?"

"It didn't seem important. I was doing what I wanted."

"You should have been better prepared for it."

Well, when he put it like that, as blunt and simplified as it was, Ed couldn't deny that he might be right in saying that. Ed made too many spur of the moment decisions. Had he really, truly known what he was doing when he signed his life away to the government? He knew he'd wanted to protect his brother, yes, but...

"You need to keep one thing in mind that I think you've been forgetting, 089, or that maybe you haven't realized yet." Kimblee said, breaking the short period of silence between the two of them. "Humans are, at the end of the day, nothing but pieces of complex machinery. Each and every single one of us. That's the way it's always been, and nothing's going to change that any time soon. Do you understand?"

He thought he did. After a long pause between them, he swallowed back most of his doubt and asked the only other thing he could. "Then what's the point in all of this?"

Kimblee's response came quick, as cool and collected and nonchalant as always. "Where would the fun be if I told you all of _that_, now? If you really need to know you'll find that out on your own."

Ed frowned, but he wasn't exactly compelled to voice the disappointment. He was used to being confused, and he was used to the odd conversations the two had. He told himself that they would all make sense at some point. He just needed to wait for that. And, until then, he'd be okay. He was pretty sure of that.

* * *

><p>Roy Mustang was genuinely beginning to worry. It took quite a while, but, he spent nearly all his waking free time pouring over Ed's work, case files and reports and anything else bearing the seventeen year old's signature, and still...<p>

He had yet to find anything concrete.

It was as if the Fullmetal Alchemist had completely fallen from the face of the earth. Older files were still hanging around, so reports of him definitely existed, but he hadn't done anything at all in so long it was worrysome. He wanted to know exactly what was going on with Edward Elric, just where the hell he was.

Across his desk, the phone began to ring. He closed what was almost the very last of his possible leads to answer it. He was tired, and he was frustrated with wondering exactly _when _and _where _Ed was last seen, so he didn't exactly come off as sounding thrilled to be working. "Mustang." he said, in typical HQ fashion.

"Hey, Roy! How's it going?" This came from Maes Hughes, sounding about as jovial as always. He probably didn't know anything about Ed's sudden leave of absence at all. Even so far into it.

"Fine." Roy answered, once he realized exactly who it was. Then he changed his mind. "Actually, no, not really. I'm kind of wondering something. Namely, when's the last time you've either seen or spoken with Fullmetal?"

"What? Why?"

"He hasn't been around for a while is all. I'm, um, looking for him for something. So have you seen him around or not?"

* * *

><p>"We're going to make this easier on you this time around."<p>

As soon as he'd stepped foot into the interrogation room, Ed had already known he was going to kill. He was only proven right moments later.

The table he'd come to know and hate was gone, but, the usual gang of soldiers remained in their typical, observatory spots. In place of said heavy, metal table was an equally heavy, metal looking chair. A man was strapped down to it. Arms bound to the chair and a blindfold over his eyes, he was not only left to ponder the fine points of what was going on around him, but also what was going to happen _to _him.

Ed couldn't imagine.

He could feel the panic on him; the fear and adrenaline and worry all mingling into almost full on anxiety attacks. He was already all sorts of tortured up. Miserable, hysterical. He was weak. Even if he were released right that moment, Ed couldn't see him summoning up enough strength to coming close to leaving the facility. He was half dead.

"Here you go," Kimblee said, and the echoey click of an all too familiar pistol reached Ed's ears as it was presented to him. "Have fun."

Ed knew he wouldn't. As he accepted the weapon and felt it's weight in his hands, the intense sensation of dread filled his conscience. His fingers slowly culed around cold metal, one sliding over the solid yet surprsingly weak trigger, and he knew well enough to keep his mouth shut. No doubting. No questioning. Just actions, and actions only.

It didn't matter how hard it was, because it would get easier in time.

As his arms rose once again he wondered how long he would be doing this. He knew the pattern would change. It usually did. But he wanted to know how long he'd be taking lives, he wanted to know how this was training him for anything, he wanted to know what was going to happen next and why this was going on at all...

He tried to listen, _really listen_, to the man that was becoming his newest victim, to each ragged breath he sucked in, and the nervous, miserable statements he made.

Ed opened fire.

The first shot was loud enough to make his ears ring, and the sudden, shocked scream of agony that pierced the air with it seemed even louder. The bullet had struck him in the leg. Ed could see the blood. He could hear the pain of it all. And he knew it was his fault.

Oh, god...

He shot again, quick, desperate to be done and not quite aiming. The second bullet jerked his victim's body back with force, hitting him in the upper arm. Blasting off a chunk of skin and gore than splattered the chair behind him and the floor beside him. The screams grew louder, begging him to stop, and all the while Ed told himself he needed to aim.

He needed to fucking _aim _at something!

He straightened out. Just like he remembered doing in basic training, and he aimed the way he probably always should have been. One more shot. The sound was almost deafening now.

It was a total relief, sickening yet purgative, to watch things go silent. His body jerked back with violent force before going limp and slouching over in the chair. Blindfold falling off, blown to pieces, the man was obviously dead. Ed didn't want to see how much of his face was missing. It didn't matter to him how well he'd placed the shot, just that the man was finally dead. Killed. Whatever.

Kimblee, however, made his way across the room at a nice, confident pace. Ed was disgusted to watch him place a hand over what was left of the corpse's chin and raise it up to inspect damage. To assess. Ed didn't feel comfortable watching any of it, and golden eyes glanced away at anything else.

He stared at a wall while he tried to get over the fact that he was killing people. Taking lives. For that matter, doing it rather easily. He noticed that if one emotion was missing from him right now it was guilt.

He didn't feel even the slightest bit of guilt over what he'd done. Just shock and confusion. And _relief_ that there was no guilt.

Kimblee released an audible breath as he thought. Ed looked over at him just as he was releasing his grip on what might still be referred to as the chin of his gunshot victim. He looked pleased now, and that was pretty good. He casually remarked, "Huh. You even tortured him a little there, too. Wasn't expecting _that_. Nice work, 089, very nice work..."

It didn't _feel_ nice. Nor did it smell too nice. The stench of blood filled the air, a scent he was far from used to, and it mixed with unfamiliar emotions in the worst of ways. The blonde just shook his head no as nausea filled his head. Overwhelming.

And he went over to the corner of the room and proceeded to throw up.

* * *

><p>AN – So, short and not-so-good chapter. Sorry about that. I guess the whole plagiarism deal has left me sort of uninspired, but I'd never give up on Deathless so I knew I needed to write something!

I also can't say it was _all _bad. I kind of liked the end of the last scene...

Where Ed throws up and stuff. XD


End file.
